


Teach me how to love

by captainhurricane



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Dirty Talk, Elf!Keith, Finger Sucking, Fuckbuddies, Has art, Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Keith (Voltron) is a Mess, M/M, POV Alternating, Public Hand Jobs, Switching, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, VLD NSFW Big Bang 2018, background allura/lotor - Freeform, nsfw big bang, shapeshifter!Shiro, tentacle dicks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-05 11:52:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17324504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainhurricane/pseuds/captainhurricane
Summary: Love has never quite been on Keith's radar. Too bad his new co-star, Shiro, veteran of the screen, didn't get the memo.





	1. ACT I: A whisper of you

**Author's Note:**

> The whole shebang is betaed by invisible_cat.  
> The extremely lovely artwork, first of which you can see here is by the very talented [ringlov](https://twitter.com/ringlovdraws) !!
> 
> this is my very first Big Bang so be nice ;)
> 
> The playlist for the fic can be found [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/revy/playlist/4UzIzbfsZVWsVFPqzbDJK6?si=i6yKGiEoROadJHzDm8_NYA)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith has been, well, mostly fine with the way his life is.   
> Shiro has drifted through his eccentric existence for ages. 
> 
> They collide.

A black hole exists within Keith. It has been there ever since his teenage-years, ever since his father get blown to bits and his mother walked out of the door, never to return. Over the years he’s tried to fill that hole with everything he could ever think of: weed, hard drugs, cigarettes, alcohol, sex. Yet the black hole remains, sucking away the joy from his life.

 

The only thing that forces him to feel is acting. It’s only because of his famous sister Keira that he had gotten first tiny roles at first, as extras, as nameless classmates, a couple of modelling shoots. Then he had gotten an agent, a frustrating, determined man called Alfor, and Keith had ended up with actual speaking roles.

 

When he’s someone else, the black hole within him shrinks until he almost forgets it exists.

 

He’s aware he’s not quite leading man material, not material for a romantic comedy: he’s a heavily pierced punk with a bleeding heart who can smile on command but not pretend to be in love. Keith prefers being the right-hand man, prefers holding guns, prefers dying on camera.

 

That way the walls he’s built around his heart will never fall down.

 

So when Alfor comes forward with an offer for his first major movie lead role, he’s curious, but also apprehensive.

 

“You know what I think of romantic movies, Alfie,” he says, slumping further down in his seat. Alfor’s office is airy and futuristic, a clear extension of the man himself: an Altean high elf of higher social standing than Keith, a scruffy little half-breed of a regular human and a Galran elf.

 

Sometimes Keith hates him a little. Sometimes Keith even hates his own sister a bit: she’s taken after their mother more than Keith - all the magic he can do are just little tricks, her skin has that same purple hue as their mother’s -  and had been scouted early. She has a long-time boyfriend, friends, fans. Keith has nothing and no one, certainly people who call themselves his fans, the people who follow his Twitter-account (he mostly tweets about his projects and the occasional motorcycle-photo) and his Instagram (there’s only one selfie, taken with his sister) don’t truly want him for him. They just like what they see and never bother looking deeper.

 

They don’t know what’s inside of him, echoing with need. They will never know.

 

Alfor intertwines his fingers and watches Keith over his desk. “My dear boy,” he sighs. “May I remind you it’s you who has told me you need a, sort of, facelift in your career. I think this is a great opportunity, a great young director and besides, it is more of a drama movie than mere romance.” There is that look again that Keith has gotten from Alfor before. Almost fatherly.

 

Keith looks away.

“You only say she’s great because she’s your daughter.”

 

Alfor sighs. “No. I say she’s great because she is.”

 

Keith puts down the script. The word ‘sex’ had popped up. He’s not a stranger to sex, not at all but he’s never had it on camera, having to act like he’s in love with his partner. That’s not Keith’s forte. He doesn’t fall in love.

He squeezes his eyes closed and tugs on one of the earrings hanging from his pointy ear. It’s all about the sweat on his partner’s skin, their moans in his ears, bruises left on Keith’s skin afterwards. Not love.

 

“Kid, I think this would do you good,” Alfor says. His expression is hard to read.

 

Keith picks up the script again. It does look fun. His love interest is a plucky cheerful journalist. His would be character is a superhero leading a double life as a barista. There’s also a supervillain.

 

That part is what makes Keith’s heart jolt the most. The villain is most likely going to be played by Faewood’s resident monster guy Takashi Shirogane. Shapeshifters are the usual go-to-guys when movies need monsters or villains and they are rarely love interests or anyone given a proper storyline.

And Takashi Shirogane deserves it the most: the guy raises money for charities on a regular basis and dated his damn high school sweetheart for fifteen years before she broke it off over creative differences.

 

Keith has had more than a few interesting dreams about Shiro. This would be the first time Keith meets the man face to face.

 

Keith already hates him a little. Everything seems to come easy for Shiro: fame, fans, love, money. He’s a darling of the entire world.

 

“I’ll do it if Shiro’s in it,” Keith whispers. His cheeks warm. He hides his face behind the script and sighs. “Just - I will feel better if I know I’m not the only one who’s never been in a romantic flick.” It’s true that he was the one who complained to Alfor about being typecast as the broody loner side character. It’s true that he’s been curious about doing a romantic film.

 

And this director, Allura Oriande, Alfor’s powerhouse daughter, had him in mind specifically. For a lead role. Which means a bigger paycheck.

 

Maybe Keith could even move into Faewood instead of living a motorcycle-ride away.

 

And Shiro. Shiro, who shows such a sweet face to the world and whose career Keith has followed since he was a kid and Shiro had first showed up in a children’s show about baby were-octopi. Shiro who sports thick muscles and an interesting little birthmark over his nose, like a leftover pink scale.

 

Shiro, who always smiles when he’s on the red carpet.

 

Nobody smiles on the damn red carpet. Keith had ended up on it twice, both times as the date for his sister as her boyfriend had been busy and it had been terrifying. Yet there Shiro had been, there Shiro is, a smile on his face and a date hanging off his arm. Every time a different person.

 

Perhaps the only damn flaw in the perfection that is Takashi Shirogane: the inability to hold a relationship. Keith is intrigued to find out if Shiro has anything else.

 

Alfor smiles at him when Keith meets his eyes again. “A fanboy, are we?” Alfor asks.

Keith rolls his eyes. “I could learn from him. Besides, he’s not even the love interest, is he?”

 

Alfor smiles. “I’ll tell them you are interested in doing this.”

 

Keith nods, his palm spreading on the script. The black hole inside of him keeps on echoing.

 

“Have lunch with me, Keith. We haven’t really - “

 

“It’s fine, Alfie. Just tell me when they want me to come up. You know.” Keith swallows the lump from his throat and gets up.

 

“Of course, Keith. I am certain Allura will be happy. You are exactly what she wants for Adrien. I’m sure you’ll do great.”

 

“Sure.” Keith keeps the script. Adrien Holliday, barista turned superhero, who falls for a plucky journalist - - and fights off bad guys like the self-proclaimed - -. What a guy. A complete opposite to who Keith is. This can only be a disaster.

 

*

 

Shiro had been waiting for the casting director to call. Patiently. This is not a dream role for Shiro, yet another on the long list of monsters for him to play. At least this one doesn't call for a full body transformation like so many of his other movies do.

 

But Shiro has heard rumours of who will play the hero Adrien and has found himself silently intrigued.

 

The call comes once he pulls himself up from his massive pool and shifts back into his regular human form. He hears his phone ring and grabs a towel, dries excess moisture off his hands before pressing the right button.

 

“Hello, Shiro,” Honerva, his manager greets in her usual sternness. “The role is yours. They want you.” Shiro just knows that she’s pacing in her office, her heels clicking against the floor. Her hair in an enviably tight bun, the ring in her finger glimmering. To be married to one of the richest men in the world is to not work a day in her life, but to not work is to not live for her. So here she is, managing him role after role after role after role. It’s a little like having a second mother, Shiro’s biological one living her quiet life way back in Japan.

 

They’re not on speaking terms after the broken engagement.

 

Shiro sighs and clears his throat. “Yes. Of course. Send me the script.” Romance, he can’t do. Action, he can. Cocky, he can. It’s not him but that’s fine. It’s all fine.

 

He can say the words and be Katra Karlsson, lawyer turned supervillain.

 

He spends the rest of his night Googling recipes, googling his co-stars. They’re all people he’s never worked with before. There’re only two pictures of Keith Kogane that he finds: on the arm of his older sister Keira Kogane, hair in a bun, looking miserable. The siblings are both gorgeous, both tall and dark-haired and radiating the kind of inner strength that’s always drawn Shiro to people.

 

He knows Keira Kogane is in a long-term relationship and Shiro’s preferences have shifted from women to men a long time ago, so he doesn’t focus on her, instead takes in the long line of Keith Kogane’s body, the glimmer of piercings on his face and pointy ears - the tips of them peek through the mess of pitch-black hair in a way Shiro refuses to think of adorable - , the long, slender fingers wrapped around his sister’s shoulder. Shiro reads through the five interviews he finds of Keith and files the guy away as moody or withdrawn.

 

Exactly the kind of a guy Shiro usually doesn’t get along with.

 

He rubs his shoulder above his prosthetic. He heads for his private gym for his usual workout. To keep his head in the game. To keep his body as it needs to be: a well-oiled machine.

Shiro has long since learned there is no place for honesty in his world. Breaking his own trust in the world had broken his heart and now he keeps those shards hidden. Let him be Takashi, the scion of the illustrious Shirogane-family, unique even among his kind: the long-living shapeshifters.

 

It’s that long lifespan and the restricting his more monstrous side that has made him like this. It's his strict upbringing, the same girl chosen for him since his birthday. He's never quite been what he wants to be.

 

He holds tight onto his illusion of control. It's all he has.

 

*

 

The city burns with the heat of summer. People lounge around in parks, splash in public pools or feed ducks by the lake. Big hats cover up heads, scarfs tucked on to keep the sun from burning them alive.

Children laugh. The sky is eternally, impossibly blue. Skyscrapers glimmer like jewels in the sun, reaching towards the unknown heaven.

 

One of them is the Werewall Studios HQ, currently pleasantly cool on the inside thanks to a perfectly working air conditioning and the few warlocks employed by the Studios.

 

It’s a different kind of heat than one born of weather that has settled itself on Keith’s skin. Changing positions on the leather seat doesn’t help. Neither does stripping off his trusty gloves. He still rubs his hands together and tries to concentrate on his new director: Allura Oriande, in easy command of the room, her magnificent hair pulled up into a ponytail and her smile professional. It’s easy to see her father in her: they have the same nose, the same sharp eyes. What she’s saying is important and Keith knows it: Keith still can’t help that his knee keeps bouncing.

It shouldn’t matter. This is just a role. A lead role in a huge, widely awaited movie, acting alongside his love interest - Vincent, another veteran of the screen, not that you’d know it by the way he keeps chewing on his pencils and looks like he’s barely eighteen - and Shiro.

 

The one Keith’s eyes keep drifting to.

 

Goddammit, but Keith finds him irritating. Sitting opposite to Keith, listening to Allura intently, chin in his hand and with a soft smile on his face. His handshake had been firm, his eye contact direct enough that Keith had wanted to retreat.

 

Nice to meet you, Keith had said.

 

That lie still tastes like shit on Keith’s tongue. He turns his eyes once more away from Shiro, already certain how this will go. They will do their work, film this movie and then Shiro will move on to bigger and better things and not remember Keith. Nobody does.

 

Yet Keith doesn’t read minds and can’t know what goes through Shiro’s head. Shiro’s eyes linger on pointy ears peeking through black hair, on the long legs crossed as Keith frowns at Vincent’s antics.

 

Neither notices the other looking.

 

The main cast members, Allura, some crew members, all huddled around in the large table, page after page of script in front of him. They are the vassals to her queen, the knights of the round table. Keith squirms, uncomfortable. He’s nobody’s knight.

 

*

 

After they have all properly met each other, properly talked things through, they head to lunch. The Studios have a great catering team and an extensive cafeteria, so most head there, not eager to meet the boiling summer heat.

Shiro falls easily into the chatter of his new - some old - coworkers. Some he knows from previous projects, only a few he’s never met before and those he looks for. The pang of discontent inside of himself is familiar: they always look at his prosthetic, they always look at the curl of his faint little tattoo on his neck before his face.

 

Shapeshifters are rare. Ones like Shiro - broken, in the public eye, with clear scars - are even rarer.

 

He smiles. The only one who doesn’t look at him is Keith. So Shiro’s gaze is drawn to him more than once, endlessly curious. Shiro had looked through Keith’s previous projects and even looked him up on social media but nothing had told him of the man himself. Sullen, the magazines say. Hard to get along with, some actors say. Does his work diligently and determinedly, with clear passion but has little to no passion to communicate with others outside.

 

Keith’s shoulders are hunched. His dark hair curls under his ears, the light catching on his piercings. They’re all silver. Keith plays with the septum, keeps brushing against it like to remind himself it’s still there. There is something incredibly lonely about the downturn of his mouth or the way he looks onwards, as if he was the only one there.

 

Some might call it rudeness but Shiro gets the odd feeling it’s something else. He’s still wondering when the conversations turn to the pre-party.

 

Keith’s face stays impassive, but he frowns.

“I don’t - “

“Of course you’ll come!” One of the others say, a plucky superheroine who even wraps her arm around Keith’s shoulders. Keith’s mouth tightens.

“Y-yeah. Sure.” He tries to smile. It works for most.

 

Shiro is still left wondering.

 

**

 

Unsurprisingly, Keira rolls her eyes when Keith tells her about the pre-party.

“Of course you are going.” She squints at him through the phone screen. “Don't just mope at home. You need to socialize with the people you are about to spend the next year with. Especially the guy who plays your love-interest. And come on. Like you haven't been talking about Shiro constantly.”

Keith's cheeks warm. “I haven't. He's - he has an admirable career. And his kind usually doesn’t hang out in the footlights that long.” he bites his lip when she grins.

“How cute. Hero worship, much?”

“Shut up.” he hangs up on her like a brat. Hiding his face in his pillow doesn’t help. He hadn't expected Shirogane to be so nice. There has to be another side to the guy. Nobody is that nice. No scandals. Barely a hook-up. No drug busts. Just that constant smile.

 

If Keith managed to crack him, see if there is a dark place inside Shiro too - why not? Keith has never seen a shapeshifter’s monster form. They're more like another species developed from the mer and humans, they probably don't look like neither much if they lose control.

 

A warm tingling spreads from the bottom of Keith's stomach.

 

He knows how to make himself wanted. But Shiro's kind are notoriously protective of themselves, a proud, patient people. God. Keith wants to see it crack. He's splitting apart every day. So needs someone else.

 

Keith closes his eyes. Shiro's voice had rumbled pleasantly, his handshake firm, his eyes kind. Keith hates him a little.

 

*

Keith still hates him a little through the pre-party. Keith manages to smile through it, although he’s never been good with crowds, especially crowds that are interested in him. A bigger paycheck, a big role, Alfor’s opinion of him… all those matter enough that he stays.

 

And if Keith takes one of the cameramen to the bathroom and gives him the best blowjob of his life, well, nobody needs to know and judge him for that, even if the camera man is a whiny fae with a tiny cock and a blabbering mouth.

 

In the crowd, Shiro shines like a small sun  full of light and radiance while Keith is nothing but a black hole, sucking all that light out.

 

He’s glad by the time the crew and cast move to the Inferno, the hottest club in town. In here, the music is loud and drinks run free and Keith can forget and move on because Shiro isn’t his to take and to have.

 

So Keith drinks drinks drinks and stops making nice, instead dances like mad among the human, the shapeshifters, the fae, the elves - all those who inhabit this god-forsaken place.

 

And most of all, he avoids Shiro. Keith avoids the rest of them too and their warnings that he shouldn’t go overboard: Inferno might be only for the VIP but there is always someone who’s going to film stuff and spread it to the world. Shiro says nothing to Keith, but Keith swears he can feel the shapeshifter’s eyes on him once in a while - or maybe it’s just wishful thinking.

 

Fixating on one man is ridiculous, so Keith drinks more, dances more and forgets there is a world outside of his body.

 

If he looked, if he didn’t forget, he would know Shiro is looking back at him too.

 

*

 

There’s always something about the bathrooms at nightclubs, something scribbled in the mirrors, the music pulsing through the walls like the heartbeats of a beast on prowl. As the bathrooms of Inferno are golden-gilded and unisex, it’s not unusual to see a group of giggling elven actresses sneak past a Faewood shapeshifter A-lister.

 

Tonight, at the heart of Inferno, this particular bathroom finds itself invaded by Keith, who stumbles over the threshold, cursing his tight pants and the sweat on his skin. He wants to throw up, or get fucked, or fuck, but there is no one, nothing - he stumbles and - an arm grabs him by the waist and pulls him back up, right against a firm body. Warm chuckle vibrates against his ear.

 

“You’re a danger to yourself,” Shiro whispers and lets him go.

 

Keith swirls around, less than gracefully and feels his tongue promptly get stuck in his throat.

 

Shiro’s hair is running from his ponytail and his shirt is unbuttoned to his waist. His numerous earrings glimmer and the hint of a tattoo on his back is inviting Keith's fingers to touch. Shiro's eyes take in the sight of Keith, drunken out of his mind, with amusement. To know that Shiro is stone cold sober and Keith is drunk enough to see stars is infuriating.

 

Everything about Shiro is infuriating.

 

“And to you,” Keith whispers back and throws one dark look at the unfortunate toilet-visitor, who takes one look at their half-naked states and rolls his eyes and leaves.

 

Keith doesn’t need to take a moment to gather his courage, the liquid kind  that has been poured down his throat in such large quantities that all he feels is hard desire enough to make him dizzy. Goddammit, this man. With one step, Keith reaches Shiro, grabs him by the neck and kisses him hard, feels the huge bulge against his own.

 

“Hard, huh?” Keith licks Shiro’s lip as he parts, the kiss breaking with an obscene smack.

 

Shiro’s eyes are dark, dark, dark. “I don’t usually do this.” Shiro wraps his arms around Keith’s waist and squeezes. “But then again, it’s been quite a while.” Shiro pulls Keith to one of the stalls and tucks the door closed tightly.

“Really? Your last girlfriend didn’t fuck you hard enough?” Keith wraps himself against Shiro, rubs, grinds, scrapes his teeth against Shiro’s jaw.

 

Shiro’s hands are so huge when they slide down Keith’s body to grab his ass. He gives a dark little chuckle. “Who says she did the fucking, you little fuck.” Maybe he isn’t as sober as Keith had thought, maybe he had drank something to give that rough edge to his voice.

 

The wine and the colourful drinks has made Keith’s skin buzz, his heart race.

“Really? Because to me it looks like you’d enjoy taking it up the a - ahnnn -” Shiro traps Keith between himself and the door and bites down hard on Keith’s shoulder. Keith’s nails scrape Shiro’s skin as Keith rips at his shirt, desperate to get it off.

 

“You’ve got me going, buddy,” Shiro whispers, licks Keith’s jaw, thrusts his still clothed hips against Keith. “What are you gonna do about it?”

 

Keith bites back a laugh. “I don’t have condoms big enough for your fucking tree trunk, buddy - “ his voice fades into yet another moan when their hasty hands find their way between them, to the stubborn buttons and zippers, eager to reach the throbbing lengths.

 

“I have two,” Shiro purrs.

Keith shudders. “Fu - what?” It shouldn’t be unusual, as shapeshifters like Shiro aren’t rare, they’re popular in horror flicks, porn. But Keith’s never had one himself, not a guy he sort of grudgingly admires and who seems always so prim and proper and nice on the outside.

 

“Don’t tell me a slut like you hasn’t had two cocks in the ass.” Shiro tugs both of their pants down, growls when Keith shoves his hands down Shiro’s boxers.

 

Slut. Not the first time Keith’s been called that, not the last - not a word he expects from Shiro but then again, what does he know about this man anyway?

 

It makes Keith laugh, it gives his arousal a sharper buzz. Oh, he is a slut. He knows he is and he delights in it.

“Of course I have,” Keith laughs and gets his hands around two wriggling tentacles, mostly the same colour as Shiro’s skin except they shine, like dipped in translucent oil. They’re mouth-wateringly thick at the base, the bumps and ridges over their lengths brushing Keith’s hands, the little deep lilac suckers pressing hickeys into his skin. “Not quite like this though.”

 

Shiro draws him into another kiss. “Yeah? Let me see yours, Keith.”

 

“Don’t be too disappointed,” Keith huffs between kisses and spreads his thighs, grinning when Shiro’s eyebrow lifts. Keith isn’t quite taken to wearing underwear under his club-trousers, after all.

 

“Fuck,” Shiro groans and kisses him harder.

 

Keith kisses him rougher and begins to caress him. It’s easy to imagine what these would feel like inside of him - what he would feel like inside Shiro.

 

They bite and scratch and caress, kisses quick and hot. Whatever drunken words there were to say are lost in this sensual abyss, the stall filling up with their panting breaths and the slick sounds of hands on cocks.

 

Keith’s head swims from the incredible amount of alcohol he’s chugged over the night.

 

Shiro’s head swims from the intoxicating man in his arms, the man who’s about to be his co-actor in a neat little flick, starting tomorrow. Shiro hadn’t meant to do this but then he had chugged his whiskey, listened to the chatter of their crew and cast and eyed Keith over the table, grinding against whoever is closest, head thrown back like in ecstacy.

 

Shiro doesn’t do this. Certainly not with new actors. Certainly not with co-workers.

 

Here’s the thing: everyone knows the reputation Keith Kogane has. Everyone knows the reputation Takashi Shirogane has. It’s two polar opposites, this broody lithe elf and this charitable shapeshifter who’s made his living out of playing monsters all his life.

 

They shouldn’t work. Shiro’s been with the same girl since his teenage-years and had been left in shambles after she had dumped him: he’s barely ever entertained the thought of having someone else, too lost in his former fiancée. But he had spotted other men, other people before and had thought of them after he had been dumped.

 

He had masturbated to the thoughts of fucking, of being fucked, imagined stuffing his squirming, wriggling tentacles down an eager throat, a greedy ass or a wet cunt - but he had never crossed that line. Had always stayed in control, even when he had had bodies pressed against his before, even when he had been sent bras and underwear and had offers for sex videos and anonymous sex.

 

The few times he had lapsed are shoved deep in his memory, now dragged out by the hot fire burning in Keith. Nameless men that Shiro no longer remembers, but the things they had done he remain.

 

There had been people like Keith who are free with their bodies, people who Shiro’s parents would certainly disapprove of.

 

Yet Keith is different from all of them: he had had a certain look in his eye over that dimly lit table, a way of tilting his head and crossing his legs that had brought up impossible warmth to Shiro’s face and to his groin. And then. And then Keith had started dancing.

 

Truly, a stronger man could have succumbed as well to the way Keith’s hips had swayed, to the way he had drawn his fingers through his hair.

 

Shiro doesn’t regret, even through an alcoholic blur, a single thing about this. Maybe later regret will come, but no - now it is a thing for weaker men.

 

Keith moans into his mouth, so eager, so willing and Shiro loses himself in him easily: the taste of all those drinks Keith had chugged, the smell of sex and sweat and the ever-present thud of the music.

 

Keith’s hands, still furiously stroking Shiro’s cocks, are beginning to shine with the copious amounts of pre-cum. It glows faintly purple, shimmering. Keith notices it, drops his head against Shiro’s shoulder.

“What’s it taste like, I wonder,” he mutters, flicking his tongue to taste Shiro’s sweat.

 

“I don’t know, maybe you should have a taste.” Shiro nuzzles him, rubs his thumb on the pretty, leaking tip of Keith’s cock.

 

“Maybe later, maybe now. If you play nice.” A little taunting, a little flick of a tongue against a scruffy cheek.

 

Shiro snaps his teeth and squeezes Keith’s balls, begins to massage them so roughly, so hard that Keith finds himself whining, his own grip on Shiro’s cocks wavering.

 

“D-damn, big guy, you sure know what you’re doing.” Keith’s adorable little fangs peek out when he grins. He pants, lifting his hand to his lips and - oh. His cute pink tongue flicks out.

 

 

Shiro strokes still, his lips parting. “Keith,” he grits through his teeth.

 

Keith’s eyes gleam, a golden glimmer in them. “Thought you’d taste like something I wouldn’t mind eating again.” He slips his tongue between two fingers, sucks both of them into his mouth. He lets out a delightful little yelp when Shiro takes control of their hasty handjob.

 

Keith pulls his fingers out of his mouth and licks his lips. He wraps his arms around Shiro’s neck, pulls him close. Shiro mouths at his neck, kisses him like he was a lover, bites him like he was nothing but a hook-up. That’s all this is, a drunken hook-up, a stress relief before their work begins.

 

Shiro strokes them both through it, coating his hands in the faintly purple cum. Their mouths slide together again, lips kissed and bitten raw.

 

Keith shudders, his fingers already gone sticky. “Maybe we should be getting back.” But he’s not letting go.

 

Shiro eases his grip, instead slides his hands up Keith’s body, glad for the opened shirt. “Maybe we should clean up first.”

 

“I wonder how badly your girlfriend was after you wrecked her with those little monsters,” Keith reveals his teeth. “Did she cry?”

 

Shiro’s nails dig into Keith’s chest. “This shouldn’t happen again, Keith.” His eyes are dark and deep, the only hint of his more monstrous origin.

 

“Whatever,” Keith huffs. He cups Shiro’s cheeks, deliberately spreading that stickiness. “It’s not like you’re the only cock or pussy I can get. Maybe it’s you who’ll be begging to have me again.” He kisses Shiro’s mouth and then gets the stall-door open, humming as he steps out.

 

Shiro grimaces and begins rubbing his cheeks and the rest of him. His two cocks have gone flaccid, coated with his drying come. The chuckle breaks out and he sighs, presses his head against the stall door, once more closed after Keith.

 

Yet Shiro still can’t bring himself to regret kissing Keith and what it lead to. No matter that they’ll be facing each other on the set tomorrow, bright and early and unbearably hangover.

 

This shouldn’t happen again, Shiro had told Keith. There is always that little but, the moment of hesitation. If Keith looks at him like that again, who knows what will happen.

  


*

 

Five hours later the dawn arrives. Sun tickles the horizon with golden hues. The Werewall Studios and its thousand shiny silver windows glitter in the rising sun, cleverly hiding the mayhem inside its walls.

 

The reception hall alone is filled with posters of famous movies, reminders of film stars past and present. The two receptionists are busy, answering calls and directing people. The two security guards chat with each other, clearly in on a private joke. They check security passes with few wayward glances, even wave at the few people they know.

 

As usual, the Studios buzz with life: the table reading for Coffee Superstars is in full blow. Despite the hangovers, despite the yawns, Keith powers through his lines with the force of caffeine and those sweet-smelling cigarettes that Alfor always admonishes him for smoking.

 

It’s irritating how put together Shiro looks: bun artfully messy, his smile serene. He’s star, that much is clear. He whispers and growls through his lines, murmurs a sweet, soft song of seduction to Vincent’s bubbly reporter. Vincent even blushes. Keith pays entirely too much attention to the fierce line of Shiro's jaw.

 

Shiro hadn’t brought it up.

 

So Keith will not do so either.

 

It’s fine, right?


	2. ACT II: Shouldn't, couldn't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lines are crossed. But neither can stop anymore.

**_THE FILMING OF ‘COFFEE SUPERSTARS’ HAS OFFICIALLY BEGUN_ **

 

_ The long awaited addition to Werewall Studios, Allura Oriande, 23, and her crew, have begun filming the superhero-film Coffee Superstars. Cast members were spotted surrounded by crew on the streets near the Studios. Of most interest is Keith Kogane, 20, a relative newcomer to Faewood who had snagged the lead role from the likes of Sven Holgersson, 23 and Matt Holt, 22. Is director Oriande taking a risk in giving such an important, big role to someone who’s only acted in small parts before? Perhaps Kogane’s co-actors Vincent Pettersson, 25, and beloved horror veteran Takashi Shirogane, 29, can work as mentors to the interesting newcomer.  _

 

_ Coffee Superstars tells the comedic, romantic story of Adrien Holliday (played by Kogane), a barista by day and a superhero by night, working to protect his Golden City from the likes of Katra Lawson (Shirogane), a lawyer turned supervillain. Pettersson plays Kogane’s love interest Reece Knight. We shall await with interest what comes of this interesting casting: Kogane is mostly known for small roles in indie films and Shirogane is mostly known from various monster horror movies. _

 

MORE ON ALLURA ORIANDE ON P. 10

MORE ON ZETHRID TAIXERA’S ARREST ON P.15

MORE ON LOTOR AND ALLURA ORIANDE’S TUMULTUOUS MARRIAGE ON P.20

 

*

 

The trailers for the cast and crew vary in size and make. Most are the regular kind: white, dull and human, usually housing the cameramen or the lucky extras and actors. Some are more grand and often have the name like ‘lead actor’ or ‘director’ etched into the door. 

 

It’s what people like Allura Oriande and Takashi Shirogane deserve.

 

Keith had stared at his own name on the door for half a minute, pressing his fingers against the piece of paper taped to his door. To the door of his trailer. He had gotten used to small, niche films, indie films with a crew of ten people and three cast members. No red carpets, no flashing lights. A niche audience for niche films. Little movies that only strange people like to watch while drunk or high or both. 

 

This? This is just the beginning of something way bigger than Keith. 

 

His jaw tightens. He, however, is not a coward. He will push on and survive. No matter how much it frightens him to see his own broody face from the cover of a big magazine like SEELIE or ELLE or FILMFREAKS. It doesn’t even look like him, really: just a version of him who’s grinning brightly at the camera, holding a paper coffee cup and donning a silly superhero-mask. 

 

There are so many news articles with his name and face on them now. Keith had googled himself, out of curiousity and because his sister had texted him ten times a day since the time he got cast. (“You’re famous now!”) That little shit. 

 

Keith knows he has fans now. 

 

People who actually want to follow his life. Keith is reluctantly bullied into reactivating his  _ Faephoto _ -account and finds himself with two hundred new followers - a million less than Shiro. But it’s still two hundred new people. All flocking to the two pictures Keith has in there: one of him looking bored to tears from two years ago and one of his red motorcycle, may she rest in peace. 

 

Compared to Shiro’s - or even Keira’s - Faeto-accounts, this is boring. Dull. Barely an ember compared to those roaring fires. 

 

Keith goes to work. Films a scene. Kisses his love interest on the cheek and pretends to be a normal barista by day, a superhero by  night. 

 

He and Shiro film their first fight scene, accompanied by their stunt men. But it’s mostly just them, staring at each other across the setting, Shiro’s long hair pulled back from his face into a ponytail, his grin wicked, a remnant of his monstrous origin remaining on the slithering scales on his neck. 

 

_ “One day this city will belong to me, kitty. And there’s nothing you can do about it. See you later, sweetheart,” is what he purrs.  _

 

Keith’s insides turn into mush. The cat-ears belonging to his character certainly don’t help. Sweetheart. Sweetheart had been the pet name purred into his ear at the club bathroom. If Keith stutters in his own line _ (“There is everything I can do about it, you villain. I will see you imprisoned”) _ then no one mentions it. 

 

Except for Shiro, god curse his nice heart and compassionate nature - that Keith still doesn’t believe is the whole truth. No one is that good, that nice. 

 

“Are you alright?” Shiro’s palm is placed on his shoulder, covering it almost entirely. 

 

Keith is stiff. A tingling underneath his skin, an itch he can’t scratch on his own. A cigarette? Maybe. The crew is going to complain if he smells like lavender tobacco again. And Vincent refuses to kiss him like that. A joint? Keith’s stash is beginning to run out. 

 

Sex? Keith has no time for clubs. Vincent isn’t attractive enough to him. One of the camera women has been eyeing him but she reminds Keith too much of his previous one-night-woman. That one camera man Keith blew earlier has forgotten all about him and besides, he had a small dick anyway.

 

Keith’s gaze drops to Shiro’s feet. Climbs up his legs, brushes over that thick bulge he knows hides under thick black pants. 

 

Shiro’s hand on Keith’s shoulder tightens. “Keith?”  Shiro’s eyes, as enchanting in the bright studio lights as in the hazy fever dream of the club. 

 

He’s so frustrating.

 

“Meet me in my trailer. We have an hour.” Keith shakes off Shiro’s kindness but a trace of it remains on his skin, crawling its way to his heart that he has protected for a reason. No matter how high his walls are, something about Shiro makes him want to give in.

 

*

 

Keith doesn’t expect Shiro to really come. But here he is, after knocking on the door almost shyly, his hair free from its neat ponytail, changed back into his own clothes. 

 

“We should perhaps talk - “Shiro tries but Keith waves him inside. 

 

“I called you here to fuck, not to talk.” The remnants of Keith’s merdust-joint keep smoking on his tiny coffee table, spreading an earthy smell to the entire trailer. It’s made Keith relaxed, dried out his mouth. 

 

“Oh,” is all Shiro says. Oh? Is he surprised, really? Oh? 

 

Keith grits his teeth. He grabs Shiro’s lapels and draws him into a kiss. Keith moans, loudly when Shiro’s hesitation slips away and he’s manhandled against a wall. Shiro is strong, even without his prosthetic and has no problems lifting Keith up. Keith wraps his legs around Shiro’s waist and moans again, gladly turning his head to get Shiro’s mouth on his throat. 

“The least you could have done is to strip before,” Shiro murmurs between sucks and licks, his arms barely straining as he holds Keith up. He grinds before Keith can answer. 

 

Keith quivers. “Bed.” The please is left unsaid. His mouth is devoured again, he’s doing the devouring, pulling Shiro’s long, beautiful hair, the white strands, the black strands until Shiro bites hard on his lip. 

 

“You are a brat,” Shiro says, infuriatingly calmly, even as his eyes have gone dark with desire, pupils dilate. His cocks squirm, like already eager to be inside Keith, whichever hole he prefers. 

 

“That you are going to fuck,” Keith says, breathless and hard as he’s lowered to the floor. His hands are shaking as he rips off his sweatpants and boxers, turns his back to Shiro like that would make it any better. He’s barely stepped out of his pants before he’s pulled into a warm embrace and Shiro’s mouth is sucking on his neck again. 

 

“You have a great ass,” Shiro whispers and lays his hands on it, kneading. “And I’m gonna let you in on a secret.” 

 

Keith turns around, shucking his shirt off, finding Shiro shirtless as well. “Fucking, not talking,” Keith huffs and sticks his tongue in Shiro’s mouth again, groans when Shiro slaps his ass. Those squirming tentacles that Shiro has for cocks are revealed, they caress Keith’s own cock, his sensitive inner thighs until Keith shivers and breaks the kiss. 

 

“I’m still going to tell you, sweetheart,” Shiro murmurs and grabs a handful of Keith’s ass, revealing his pucker to the room. “You are not the first man I have been intimate with.”

 

“I figured,” Keith huffs and rips himself from Shiro’s arms to rummage through the little cupboard above the bed. Keith’s cheeks burn. He tosses the condoms to Shiro and takes the lube for himself. 

 

“Just a few times.” Shiro rips open the condom packet with his teeth. He’s smiling when Keith glances at him again. 

 

Keith flushes and gets on the bed, all fours, legs spread. He clicks open the lube but before he can squeeze it on his hand, Shiro climbs on the bed too, covering him entirely. 

“I want to shove my dicks straight in,” Shiro murmurs, voice a low rumble against Keith’s skin. “You know what my fiancée used to say? That she found my junk scary.” His hands cover Keith’s entirely. The prosthetic fits so seamlessly against organic skin. It’s even warm to the touch.

 

Keith is still, he pants. He pushes his ass against Shiro. They can’t fit on this tiny bed, not with Keith’s long legs and Shiro’s broad body, not properly. Shiro takes the lube from him and squeezes some on his own fingers, the ones of warm metal and - 

 

Keith jolts when they reach his pucker.

“Cold,” he whispers. He lays his forehead against his arm and inhales deeply. 

 

“Sorry,” Shiro whispers back and rubs his hand against Keith’s ass, before returning back to his task - too hungrily, too greedily, Keith’s hole accepts Shiro’s finger. The lube smells faintly of strawberry, the sheets of laundry detergent. Keith sighs deeply and closes his eyes. 

 

Shiro nudges him and he pulls his knees under himself, presenting his ass. The finger that Shiro’s pushing in moves, shifts, rubs so carefully that a sliver of irritation runs through Keith. He huffs and almost tells Shiro to get on with it, except - he jolts. 

 

Shiro chuckles and kisses Keith’s bent back, mouths at the knobs of his spines. “I know enough elf anatomy,” Shiro whispers and thrusts with his finger, again again again, slips the second one in before Keith can even think otherwise. 

 

“Mm, yes,” Keith purrs. He pushes back against the fingers, eager to get them deeper, eager for them to stretch him so he can at least take one cock. Calm spreads through him, now that he has something to wreck his body with, something physical to focus on. His heart races, his thighs begin to quiver as Shiro fingers him harder, brushes his prostate more often. Two fingers become three, become four - by then Shiro has his other hand curled around one of his cocks, stroking it. By then Keith is writhing, hips swaying in a way he knows is tantalizing. “Fuck,” he groans. 

 

“Yes,” Shiro purrs and withdraws his fingers. More lube is poured. Shiro’s thumb rubs over Keith’s relaxed, slick hole. 

 

Keith whines, pushes back, misses it for a second when the thumb disappears. 

 

But then Shiro pushes in, just one cock, but it’s big, it’s thick and it has all those barbs that Keith wanted to touch and lick earlier already. 

 

Keith swears out loud, body tensing reflexively. 

 

Shiro rubs his back and his ass and hums soothingly, leans down to kiss his neck, kiss his shoulders, teasingly nibble where he bit earlier. Little by little Shiro pushes in, in, in until he bottoms out. The other cock slithers to tease Keith’s balls and wrap around his cock, keeping his orgasm at bay. 

 

Keith groans when Shiro starts to move. 

 

The groans become whimpers, become moans until Shiro slams his hand on Keith’s mouth. “Damn, you are a loud one.” Shiro nibbles his ear. “My cocks this good to you, baby?” 

Baby. Sweetheart. Never Keith’s name, not in here.

 

Keith shudders and feels the slick from the tentacles wet his thighs, squishing filling his ears with every powerful thrust that sends him forward on the tiny bed. Those barbs and ridges on the tentacle-cock are doing things to his insides, rubbing him in all the right places, sending him closer to an orgasm, bringing tears to his eyes from how utterly fucking good it feels.

 

No fucking will feel as good as this. The thought comes to him at the height of his intense orgasm, at the height of Shiro’s orgasm. Keith shudders through it, Shiro squeezes his hips too tight through it. Shiro’s hot breath against his skin feels like fire. 

 

Too soon Shiro pulls out and off him but Keith bites hard on his tongue and doesn’t ask him to remain in the afterglow. 

 

Keith merely slumps on the bed and takes a deep, deep breath. He feels loose and warm and wet. 

 

His trash collector rustles. Shiro rustles and hums, clearly pulling on his clothes. 

“This -” 

 

“Shouldn’t happen again, I know,” Keith murmurs, eyes still closed. “It’s fine. This is just. What it is, right?” 

 

“Naturally. We wouldn’t want our work to get disturbed,” Shiro whispers after a long, uncomfortable moment of silence. “And neither of us want commitment, I understand perfectly.” He still smiles and ruffles Keith’s hair. 

 

Keith’s nose wrinkles but he doesn’t open his eyes again. “Don’t play nice.” 

 

“Oh, Keith,” Shiro says. And Keith can’t quite tell why he says it like that. “See you soon.”

 

*

 

_ Adrien Holliday keeps tapping the counter and spacing out. He’s cleaned the same glasses three times already, pestered his colleagues, drank three cups of coffee that won’t do good for his already frantic heartbeat.  _

 

_ Mostly because Reece is visiting again. Adrien doesn’t want to break anymore glasses or plates or accidentally splatter everything with coffee.  _

 

_ Reece is working on another article, probably about the recent superhero vs. supervillain-fights. Adrien hopes he is. Adrien likes to think that Reece is thinking of him. _

 

_ Adrien’s daydreams are cut short by a polite cough.  _

_ “Uh - huh?”  _

_ His supersenses have failed him. Because he knows Katra Lawson is a snake of a man and Adrien should know.  _

 

_ Adrien plasters on his most polite smile.  _

_ “What will you have, Sir?”  _

 

_ Katra smiles as well. He looks fancy in his charcoal suit, a peek of scales in his neck, a whisper of his more monstrous form.  _

_ “Sweet Mr Holliday. Here again.”  _

 

_ Adrien opens his mouth to speak, then closes it. Then flushes. _

 

“Cut!” 

 

The set buzzes. Allura is a dominatrix of the set and her whip is her voice. Her heels are frightening and glittering and she brushes her wedding ring, whenever she gets agitated. There is a bothered frown on her face.

 

“Everything alright?” Shiro, ever the gentleman, asks. 

 

Allura smiles at him and shakes her head. “We have been filming for quite a while and it’s taking a toll on mister Kogane.” 

 

Said mister Kogane pouts. “I can - “

 

Allura’s eyes are sapphire and steel. “It’s a simple scene. Yet your heart and your mind aren’t in it.”

 

Keith’s face tightens. There’s something wrong with him today, there’s an ache in his throat, a buzz under his skin. Old bruises litter his skin, his hips, his thighs. It’s barely been a couple of days and already Keith craves. This is like the worst of his addiction, worse than anything anonymous sex and drugs. At least drugs don't look at him like that. At least Keith's sex partners previously had just.. Let it be. 

 

No one has been kind like Shiro. No, Keith hasn't let anyone in for a second time, much less third. What is Shiro to him? 

 

Very carefully, sternly he keeps himself from looking at Shiro. 

 

“I think - “Shiro starts, his hand suddenly resting on Keith’s shoulder. His concern radiates off his voice. 

 

Keith jolts, the ache in him spreading. He wishes he could grab Shiro and kiss his stupid face. Or slap him. Or break his own heart for doing so. Instead he just steps away and crosses his arms.

 

Allura sighs. “Let’s take a break. We need to start on Vincent’s scene at the paper anyway or we’ll be behind schedule. Two hours for you. Eat. Have a drink. And you, mister Kogane, take a goddamn nap. You’re ready to fall on your feet.” She claps her hands and they obey, because she is the queen bee and they are her worker bees.

 

Keith sighs. He says nothing to Vincent, pulls away from Shiro’s oppressive kindness and heads for the buffet. He picks a few vegetables, a drumstick, some rice. He nibbles.

 

It’s that what he craves. More bruises, more filth whispered into his ears. They had made a promise not to do it again but here Keith is, already aching for more. Shame curls hot in his stomach and he throws away his meager lunch, heading out for a cigarette instead. 

 

Adrien Holliday slips off him like he was never there. His happiness isn’t Keith’s happiness. Keith feels like he’s bitten off more than he can chew. Is he meant for this role? Can he even do this? 

 

His thoughts drift to Shiro and the heavy hand on his shoulder. 

 

Keith aches aches aches aches.

 

He smokes two cigarettes. He changes from Adrien Holliday’s clothes to his own, puts on his septum again, braids his hair. He lets the film make-up stay on. Two breath mints and a glass of water later, he glances around but there’s no one around. Their trailers are close to each other but there is still a chance someone will see. 

 

Neither of them wants that. 

 

Keith’s heart pounds a war rhythm in his ears when he knocks on Shiro’s door. It opens for him a moment later, a little too soon, leaving him blinking.

 

Shiro’s eyes narrow. “Come in.” He’s shirtless, in the middle of going to the shower or changing. His black, shimmering scales are visible just over the enticing waistband of his straight black trousers. He’s never really showed those scales before.

 

Shiro’s trailer smells faintly of ocean. The itch under Keith’s skin increases. He comes in and swallows hard.

“Look, I - “ 

 

Shiro crosses his arms but instead of looking defensive, it merely brings attention to his well-defined chest. 

 

The sheer desire makes Keith’s knees buckle, his mouth go dry. “I know we said not to- “ his jaw is tight, his gaze on the floor. “It’s cigs or booze or weed or sex, you know. You’ve heard enough about me to know that.” Keith swallows hard. It’s all he’s good for. His jaw is even tighter. 

 

“Do you get anxious often like this?” Shiro whispers, his hand is warm as he carefully places it on Keith’s shoulder. “Trust me, Keith, I don’t read the gossip rags and I don’t trust them. They’ve published enough bullshit about me for me to know that.” 

 

Keith huffs. “I don’t read them either or check my social media but I know enough to know what they’re calling me. And I understand. I’m a slut. I’m a drug addict.” His knee begins to shake so he takes a seat in the very edge of Shiro’s bed. “But I want it, Shiro. I need it. I need- “ he chokes up. He bites the sorrow back, the despair, the need and instead jumps back up. 

 

“Keith, I could - I don’t think of you that way.” Shiro lays his hand on Keith’s shoulder again. Both hands on Keith’s shoulders. “You’re not a slut. I mean, I know I - “ Shiro’s cheeks are pink. “It’s dirty talk, you know? I figured it’s just a thing to be done and all. I like you as you are, buddy.”

 

“Oh,” Keith says. “Stop talking.” 

 

Shiro’s lips part but he doesn’t get a word out. Keith kisses him hard, dances on his tiptoes to be able to do so. Shiro grabs him, laughs into his mouth.

“We have time, kitten,” Shiro huffs, breaks the kiss in favour of nudging Keith back towards the bed. 

“I just wanna suck your cocks and be on my way,” Keith whispers and drops down to his knees. His lips burn with the kiss.

“I don’t have condoms in here, buddy,” Shiro whispers back. He draws his fingers through Keith’s hair. His groin twitches in response to Keith’s touches though. 

“If it is - I get tested regularly, you know - “ Keith swallows. He’s blushing. What the fuck. 

“That's not it, Keith,” Shiro says quietly. His fingers withdraw from Keith's hair before Keith can decide if he wants to slap them away or pull them to his mouth. 

Keith looks down, nuzzles Shiro's groin anyway, breathes in that musky ocean scent. 

“Keith,” Shiro whispers. He doesn't stop when Keith opens his pants, leaves the boxers on. They're covered in galaxies. 

Keith doesn't allow himself a smile. Shiro's quirks and habits are not for him to know. Keith licks, urges the cocks out of their sheath. They wriggle under the fabric, eager for the wet warmth of Keith's mouth. 

Keith sucks through the fabric, tastes laundry detergent and feels a twinge of irritation. 

“Baby, “ Shiro whispers. 

Nothing he says or will say will change Keith's mind. Keith closes his eyes, gropes Shiro's heavy balls and thick lengths and licks, kisses, sucks. It's so easy to lose himself in it, in Shiro's gorgeous scent. Keith is confused when he's dragged up, his mouth is devoured, Shiro's thick arms tight around him. Helpless, Keith moans. 

“I will buy condoms, baby,” Shiro whispers, as breathless as Keith. They stroke each other through their pants, eager hands diving beneath waistbands. “I want to fuck you.”

Keith moans. Yes. Yes. “Yes!” His hips buck up, into Shiro's big warm hand. 

“Yes,” Shiro murmurs. His cocks squirm in Keith's hand. “Be inside you, sweetheart, so deep, both of me - “

Keith whines, forehead dropping against Shiro's shoulder. He lets himself clutch Shiro tight, lets himself fuck into Shiro's hand. 

“Look up, pretty,” Shiro purrs and tilts Keith's head up. They kiss and kiss, lick into each other’s mouths, taste the deep desires swirling. 

It is so easy, so easy to come into Shiro's hand, hitch a sob against Shiro's lips. Keith pulls his hand away, coated in purple glow. He takes a deep breath. 

With shaky knees he washes his hand. 

“Keith,” Shiro whispers. 

“Let's just… Do our jobs. And… This. Let's keep this between us. “ Keith keeps His voice and face steady.

 

Shiro huffs. His mouth tightens. “Between us.”

 

Keith closes the door on his face. 

 

**

 

The filming proceeds. Shiro keeps His hand on Keith's shoulder often, too often, whispers his favourite catchphrase whenever Keith fucks up a scene and gets frustrated. Some things Keith is supremely good at. Acting he thinks is good at, just not at the level of their tyrannical dictator. Allura is an angel and a devil, absolutely in control of the quality of her scenes. 

 

So is her husband. Lotor has only visited the set twice over the past couple of weeks, but Keith had hated him on sight. Certainly Lotor Oriande is the producer of this movie and Allura’s beloved husband but he also gives off a bad vibe. 

 

Shiro seems to think the same, his smiles a little more fake. 

 

Keith likes to think Shiro's careful smiles with him aren't fake. 

 

Right? 

 

A week passes, barely a week and the itch returns. Pathetic. Pathetic. Keith smokes too many lavender cigs, even spends one free evening in a faedust-haze. It's Shiro he yearns for. 

 

One particularly rough, exhausting day finds Shiro by Keith's side once more. 

“I have.. Condoms, you know,” Shiro says. His cheeks are pink, his beautiful long hair free. “If you.. Want.” Shiro's hand is big and warm on Keith's shoulder. He’s so fucking unfair and Keith wishes he could hate him.

 

Shiro smiles gently. “I am up for it if you are, Keith. “

 

Yes. God yes. Yes. Keith keeps his expression level and shrugs off Shiro’s hand and turns away. “Yeah. Later.” 

 

*

 

Shiro updates his Faephoto-account regularly. It had been hammered into his head from a young age that his fans are the most important so he keeps His social media up to date. He never says a thing about Keith, surprisingly afraid that someone will read into it and god forbid, call Keith a slut for looking for advice from Shiro, a more experienced, trying to climb up his thigh into this role. 

 

Shiro knows already what they say about Keith. 

 

He doesn't know where this protectiveness over his co-worker has sprung up from, but Shiro wishes Keith cared more for his own reputation. Or himself. Keith is so surly, but so beautiful, so fragile when begging for Shiro's touch. Shiro wants to mentor him further, to be better, to better himself. Shiro wants Keith to feel better about himself: Shiro’s seen how Keith retreats into himself when Shiro turns the usual dirty talk into praise. Has no one told that boy he’s beautiful? Has no one touched him with care, with tenderness? 

 

He has a feeling Keith would take it as a charity or an insult. Shiro shoves his yearning for his - whatever Keith is - as deep inside himself as it goes, alongside all of his other secrets and desires and keeps on going, keeps on chipping at Keith’s armour.

 

So Shiro updates various things of his set life, puts up photos of himself in the make up seat, snaps a secret photo of Lotor and Allura gazing at each other softly, only says about Keith that he thinks his younger colleague is very diligent with his work and is doing a very good job. Diplomatic, neutral answers. It's what Shiro is good at, what he has been taught to do. 

 

Keep private life separate from his work life. 

 

Fucking Keith on set, in Keith's trailer is toeing that line. 

 

But Keith arches so pretty under him, whines, spreads out over one of Shiro's dicks, the other rubbing Keith's own. Here they are: Shiro deep inside Keith again, Keith on his back on his narrow bed, legs spread. Shiro fucks into him, hands digging bruises into Keith's slim hips. 

 

“Gorgeous, baby, you are gorgeous,” Shiro grunts. “Look how you are spread out around my dick. God I want them both in you, you little slut. Love it when I press bruises into you, huh? “ he’s never been this hard, never, Keith whines for him, desperate, claws at his hands, his little fangs so pretty, so cute. His face is red, his chest is pink and Shiro fills up his mind with all the praise he wants to say because Keith deserves all of it.

 

Shiro shoves his fingers, his flesh and blood fingers into Keith's mouth and Keith takes the bait, sucks and licks and bites, moans like a fucking whore. Shiro calls him so, Keith's teeth dig into his fingers. 

 

Shiro smiles. “Sweetheart.” He digs his fingers into Keith's mouth, into his wet tongue. “Suck me clean afterwards, will ya? Suck me. I want that slutty mouth on me.” he doesn't know what he’s saying anymore, he's blabbering, leaning over Keith's bent body, biting his jaw. He's already leaking into the condoms, both cocks, especially the one clutched tight inside Keith. What it would be like to come inside of him, on him, without the condom? Cover that beautiful pale skin in his glowing cum. Keith had licked it off his hand that hazy first time. 

 

Keith would like it. 

 

Shiro thrusts roughly into him. “You feel so hot and tight, baby boy, you take me so fucking well. Can I eat you out afterwards, please? I have been thinking about it for days. I bet you would love it.”

 

Keith sobs. “F-fuck, my- I love it, I want it, please Shiro, give it to me, I - fuck, fuck!” A particularly hard thrust pushes Keith over the edge and he sobs, suckles on Shiro's fingers like they were a tit, sloppy and gorgeous. 

 

“Messy boy, what a naughty messy boy, “ Shiro blabbers, rubbing his dicks against Keith and urges himself over the edge, fondles his own balls, squeezes and finally, finally climaxes too. He kisses Keith hard, lets Keith moan, suck on his tongue. They ride it out like they were regular lovers, Shiro pulls out but doesn't stop grinding against him, thinks about love and desire and longs to say it all to Keith but doesn’t. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

 

Keith keeps him in a tight hold,  inhales, exhales, their shared heartbeats like thunder inside their rib cages.

 

Shiro rubs his thighs, his back. Kisses his forehead. “Are you alright?”

 

Keith quivers. He doesn’t look at Shiro when Shiro retreats from his tight embrace. Shiro bites his lip and strokes Keith’s hair, pushes soft, sweat-damp strands off that high, pale forehead. Keith’s eyes flutter closed, his bitten, pink lips still parted. 

“I’m fine,” Keith murmurs.

 

Shiro pulls himself away, certain that hurt is showing loud and clear on his face. He lets his head hang. Dammit, Keith. Shiro reaches again, but pulls back again. He gets up from the bed and quickly washes the worst mess off himself, dresses into his wrinkled clothes. 

 

“See you later, buddy.” 

 

Keith curls up in his narrow bed, in his soiled sheets. He turns his back, his shoulders so slim, his form so narrow. Shiro wants to trace the muscles of his back  with his tongue. 

 

Keith is so beautiful, in and out. 


	3. ACT III: Quiver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's heaven here with Shiro.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i completely forgot to mention that i made a spotify-playlist for this fic when i first started writing 
> 
>  
> 
> [i hope this link works](https://open.spotify.com/user/revy/playlist/4UzIzbfsZVWsVFPqzbDJK6?si=J9U_sQNyQKSOFCXACppq6A)
> 
>  
> 
> chapter specific songs:  
> Elizaveta - Trap  
> Keiynan Lonsdale - Higher  
> Kids and Chemicals - Fog (all 3 for Shiro's apartment scenes)

They fuck again. The days pass. The filming continues. On set, Adrien and Katra become Night Cat and Scorpio. They argue and fight. Adrien advances on Reece, saves him from Katra’s trap and gets a kiss for a reward. 

 

Kissing Vincent is good enough, fine enough, but the kiss is between Adrien and Reece, the on-screen lovers. They can smile about it: Keith can’t. Vincent can’t. Vincent pats Keith on the back for it and smiles awkwardly, clumsily. They don’t hang out outside of filming, even when they should.

 

Keith can’t quite bring himself to care about his opinion.

 

“You did good, Keith, “ Shiro gets in the habit of saying each day, even on the few days when they don't have scenes together. “Proud of you.” It’s like he’s always there, watching over Keith’s progress. He’s even taken to giving little tips, advising Keith to take a moment to breathe when things feel too overwhelming. 

 

Keith snaps back. Keith looks down, arms crossed. “Thank you.” That is the real Keith: under the anxiety, the drug problem, the attitude… Keith merely wishes for love. 

 

Shiro wants to wrap him in his arms out in the open. 

 

He does it in their trailers, whispers both dirty things and soft things onto Keith's pretty ears, realizes that Keith responds well to the former, better to the latter, blushes all bashful if Shiro calls him beautiful, praises him. 

 

To both, Keith clenches around his dick and grows harder, gets needier. They never talk about this thing between them- Shiro tries but Keith turns him away, unwilling. Shiro stamps down his frustration. Later. They can talk later.

 

They go through an entire package of Deluxe Magnum Magic Condoms in the span of a few weeks, spending most of their breaks and days off with each other, wrapped up in each other. 

 

They both know this is beginning to get dangerous, addicted as they are to each other, unsaid things in the air between them. They both know they're in deep shit if this gets out: Keith more than Shiro. Fraternizing between castmates isn't strictly forbidden, but it's not exactly approved of. Shiro's fans, some of them obsessed to the point of scary, would probably shank Keith in an alley if they found out. Shiro's fiancee had endured enough and she had been from a prestigious family, well versed in the drama of Faewood.

 

They would rip Keith apart: throw racist comments at his face for being half-Galran, think him less than Shiro.  

 

Keith deserves none of that. Keith gets shy when he is praised, puts up walls to protect himself, has the sweetest smile. He takes Shiro's advice to heart, improves in a span of few days, breathes fierce life into the Night Cat Adrien. He is lovely, beyond lovely and Shiro wants to protect him. 

 

Shiro keeps their secret and holds him tighter during their times together, kisses him harder. Keith responds to his touches and kisses with the same fire, spreads his legs with the sort of desperation that kills Shiro, bit by bit. 

 

They never go too slow or too tender, Keith gets needy and loud and Shiro loses control, bit by bit. If he scratches Keith too much with suddenly appearing claws or squeezes him tight with a tail that Shiro can’t keep a hold of, well - Keith certainly doesn’t seem to mind.

 

They keep this secret, just between them.

 

*

 

Shiro doesn’t think anything special of it: as he shoves Keith to the bed and straddles him. Maybe otherwise, in another situation, Shiro would let Keith take him like Shiro usually takes Keith. On all fours, scratching at the sheets. But now? Now Shiro wishes to do it this way. This way he can keep a hold of Keith and control the rhythm the best. This way he can watch Keith rip himself apart under him, in him. 

This way he can watch Keith’s lips part, the flush rise to his cheeks. 

 

“I’m not too heavy, am I?” Shiro lifts himself to his thighs and begins pulling his hair off its braid. 

 

Keith’s hands curl on his thighs. Already they both feel the same heat on their bare skin, soon to be covered in sweat. “Kiss me,” he hisses and reaches. Keith looks the most gorgeous like this. 

 

Shiro lets himself pulled down to a kiss, lets his hair finally fall free. He presses himself down and rocks his hips, just to try it out. 

He licks into Keith’s mouth and grabs Keith’s wrists, bringing his hands to Shiro’s hair.

“You can pull,” Shiro murmurs between kisses, between slow, sensual brushes of his tongue. “No. I’d love it if you pulled my hair while I finger myself.” For a single second his heart races: is this too much, too soon? They’ve fucked, certainly, but they hadn’t stopped to talk about it, to think about it. Falling into each other is so easy it should be frightening. Would Keith even want to fuck him in return? 

 

Shiro only has to pull back from the kiss to know that the answer is yes. 

 

Keith’s cock is swollen and thick between them, Keith’s pupils blown wide. 

“I didn’t - I wasn’t gonna ask just yet,” Keith whispers. “I want to wreck you.” He grabs a fistful of Shiro’s hair and tucks hard. Keith surges up from the bed and latches his mouth against Shiro’s neck. He begins to suck, he begins to kiss and nibble. 

 

“Good boy,” Shiro purrs, knowing by now which tone of voice irritates Keith the most, riles him up the most. “I can feel your sweet little cock aching for attention already.” Shiro cards his fingers through Keith’s hair. This kind of a talk had worked on Keith before and it does now because Keith begins to bite his neck. 

 

Shiro groans and shudders. He wraps his arms around Keith’s slim, yet powerful body. 

“Baby.”

 

Keith shivers. “Don’t call me that.” He yanks Shiro’s hair again.

 

Shiro’s eyes flutter closed, his voice breaks out even louder. “Why not, baby? Your cock seems to like it.” 

 

Keith devours his neck, licking over the wounds he’s made, tangling his fingers with Shiro’s hair. “My cock wants to be inside your ass, golden boy.” His devious mouth moves to Shiro’s jaw, his teeth, those adorable little fangs scrape Shiro’s stubble. “You ever had anyone up your ass before?”

 

Shiro shifts, his blood racing inside of himself. He calls forth a tiny inkling of his inner magic, whispers for Keith to stay still. Shiro knows Keith feels it: all those who have magic feel how it thrums beneath the skin, whispers out of its need to be released. 

 

Shiro wraps himself tighter around Keith and closes his eyes. He feels the magic lick at his back, knows what it forms into: a tail, right above the cleft of his ass. That tail slithers its way to the night table and yanks it open.

 

“That fucking tail -” Keith breathes out, swallows hard. 

 

The tail fetches lube, condoms, drops them on the bed. Shiro grins. “My true form is best kept hidden, sweetheart. You have seen a glimpse of it in my movies. This is but an inkling of it.” He licks into Keith's mouth, lets his tongue explore. 

 

Keith moans, grabs his hair. 

 

Shiro moans in return and coats his hands in lube, readies himself, strokes himself. He pulls on the condoms on them and finally slips a fingertip inside himself. Just a tip, because it's been a while and Shiro hasn't quite managed to relax enough to bottom, never has trusted his bed partners that much. 

 

Keith looks at him reverently, hands tight on Shiro's hair. 

“Your eyes are so beautiful,” Shiro murmurs, relaxes himself, rocks into his fingertip. 

 

Keith makes a choked sound. “Shut the fuck up.” he yanks hard,latches his mouth onto Shiro's jaw. 

 

“Good boy,” Shiro grunts, slips his finger deeper. “Gonna fuck me good, huh?” he closes his eyes, grinds, lets out a breathless chuckle. 

 

“Yes,” Keith groans. “Yes.”

 

It’s all he says, that and Shiro's name, through kisses and bites and fingering himself deep, so deep until he's threatening to fill up the condoms already. He’s loose and relaxed when he finally settles on Keith's rock hard cock. 

 

Keith's fingers have found permanent residence in his hair, Keith's mouth constantly begging for more kisses. God, his mouth alone could drive Shiro insane. 

 

And it does, it does. 

 

The bed is top-notch, the springs barely letting a sound as Shiro keeps his palm on the ceiling for balance. He bounces on Keith’s cock with surprising ease.

 

Keith is staring up at him with a face that Shiro can’t decipher: Keith’s hands are clutching Shiro’s thighs tightly. “Fuck, you’re hot,” Keith grunts, his hips lifting up enough to meet Shiro’s downwards thrusts. 

 

“Why thank you,” Shiro manages. He places his palm on Keith’s hand and squeezes. “Surprised I rather like it this way too, huh?” 

 

“Oh, f- yes, always figured you were, a- ah-” Keith groans and thrusts up, hard that Shiro bounces harder. 

 

Skin slaps obscenely against skin, their mouths smack together again, eager to taste and to devour. Shiro keeps his eyes on Keith, delighted to find Keith losing himself the same way he does when Shiro is inside him. 

“You’re so cute, baby,” Shiro whispers, rolls his hips sensually. Keith’s cock throbs inside him, long and swollen and so beautifully curved. 

“S-shut up,” Keith groans. His back arches, his nails dig into Shiro’s thick thighs. Keith’s eyes open up a crack, gleaming yellow. He shifts and sits up, grabs Shiro’s thighs and pushes: Shiro yelps as he ends on his back, head nearly banging against the wall. His bed in his trailer might be bigger than Keith’s, but it’s still quite not big enough for acrobatics.

 

“S-shit, sorry,” Keith huffs, adjusting himself, shoving his knees under Shiro’s hips. 

“It’s okay, I’m alr - nngh, baby - “ It’s Shiro’s turn to arch, to scramble for purchase, for balance on his wall. The magic so inherent to him rolls inside of him, sending ripples of pleasure over his skin. Shiro tugs Keith against himself, breath hitching when Keith bites him: those little, sharp fangs digging into him. 

 

Keith moans, helplessly lost. 

 

Shiro tangles his fingers in Keith’s hair and comes.

 

This time, they don’t stick around for cuddles or to share a shower. Keith lingers, long enough that Shiro nearly asks, but then Keith merely closes himself off from Shiro and departs on shaky legs. 

 

**

 

Keith is so sick of coffee, even the luxurious brand served on set. The scent of coffee is beginning to be permanently stuck to Keith’s skin. He takes too long showers. He tries to strike a conversation with Vincent but his on-screen boyfriend is experienced enough socially - unlike Keith - to know it’s not about of real interest. 

 

In nicer words, Vincent treats him with kiddy gloves.

 

Keith doesn’t want to pretend to be in love with him anymore, not even as the Night Cat Adrien. Still Keith throws himself into the role: practices a million smiles in front of his mirror, murmurs lines to himself during lunch breaks, obediently updates his Faephoto-account with a few grumpy selfies and chats with his sister. Keira can’t hear all the details. She’s delighted to know he’s doing well. 

 

“And you? How are you?” Keith fiddles with the strings of his favoured red hoodie. He’s taken to lounging on the sleek dark couch in his trailer instead of his bed: his bed is only for sleeping and getting fucked on, after all. 

 

Keira giggles. Keith can just imagine her: her skin a lavender hue unlike his own pale one, twirling a lock of dark lilac hair around her finger. _ “I’m pregnant.”   _

 

Keith stops fiddling. 

 

Keira hums. _ “Yea. That means you’re gonna be uncle Keith. Me and Theo are so excited. You know we’ve been trying for a while, right?”  _

 

“You - yeah.” Keith tugs on his hoodie-strings. There his sister goes again, moving on, moving forward. Everything she does is so uncomplicated, everything handed to her on a silver platter. Does she even miss their parents? As far as Keith knows, Keira’s dad is in good health and not dead and cold like Keith’s. 

 

_ Patience. Have patience,  _ Shiro would say. 

 

_ “We just found out yesterday. Of course, we already have like a couple of rooms we can convert into a nursery and all - “ _ While Keira blabbers on, Keith closes his eyes and inhales deeply. In and out. In and out. Have patience. _ “Keith? Are you listening?”  _

 

Keith opens his eyes. He nods. “Y-Yeah.” 

 

_ “Liar. I asked if you wanna visit soon. I know you’re busy right now - “ _

“- and I’ll be busy for a long time, I’m the main character, you know - “

_ “Oh, shush. We haven’t seen each other in like a hundred years. And Theo would love to see you, he says no one understands his love for old mecha shows like you.” _ Keira snorts. _ “Can’t believe I let a nerd like that knock me up.”  _

 

Keith sighs. “Yeah. I’ll visit. I’ll find the time.” He sucks his lower lip. “Mom would have loved to be a grandma.” The instant the words leave him, he regrets them. He sighs again. It’s been long enough that the grief has become nothing but a dull throb somewhere at the back of his head, but it’s still there: Krolia lived making the world better and died in the process of doing so. All Keith has of her and his dad is a pile of pictures and Krolia’s old knife, a family heirloom that Keith’s kept secret from everyone. 

 

Keira is quiet for a long time _. “I bet she would have. Keith, you know - do you ever - “ _

 

“No. Don’t - don’t say anything. I don’t know why I said anything.” Keith bites the inside of his cheek. _ Patience, _ he imagines Shiro saying, imagines Shiro’s heavy, comforting hand on his shoulder.  _ Have patience.  _ “Sorry I brought her up.” 

 

Keira sighs. _ “It’s fine, you doofus. Anyway, because you’re still an emotionally stunted ass, I’m gonna cut this short. Me and Theo are on a schedule.” _

 

“As usual.” Keith bites his lip. His fangs push onwards, penetrate his lip, make blood trickle. Keith laps it up. He doesn’t count the hours since he’s been in bed with Shiro, he doesn’t - sixteen hours and twenty minutes, give or take. 

 

_ “Although you can’t take care of yourself, I’m still going to tell you to do so,” _ Keira says.  _ “At least try. You aren’t drinking and smoking as much, yeah? I’ve been watching the paparazzi watch you.”  _

 

“Stalker.” Keith taps his thigh.

 

Keira snorts. _ “Fuck you. Since you never contact me, I have to contact you. Just call your big sis sometimes, idiot.” _

 

“Yeah, sure.” 

 

_ “Oh, Keith.” _

“Bye, Kei.” Keith hangs up, smiles to himself at imagining her indignant splutter. His phone beeps two seconds later. Keira sends him a message consisting of three middle finger emojis. 

 

Something quite like affection warms Keith. When had he really sat down with his sister anyway? Keith knows he’s running away from his problems, from that dark place inside of himself but he can’t stop. He doesn’t know when he stopped facing his problems head on and instead became a coward.

 

“Fuck.” He tosses his phone to the couch and stretches out. He hides his face and closes his eyes. His imagination conjures up Shiro, warm as ever. Keith presses his palms to his eyes and takes a deep, deep breath. 

 

**

 

_ BLAZING HOT PICS FROM THE COFFEE SUPERSTARS SET _

 

_ More than professionalism budding between film veteran Takashi Shirogane and newcomer Keith Kogane it seems, as the two seem to share more chemistry than Kogane does with his on-screen lover Vincent Pettersson. At least that’s what our sources say. Everyone who knows anyone in Faewood knows Kogane has a questionable reputation: who’s to say this young hottie isn’t climbing some tall, broad trees to get forward? At least we’re certain anyone with eyes knows how hot Keith Kogane is, especially in his skin-tight superhero get-up! Shirogane isn’t anything to snort at either, as he’s made playing villains into an art form. More on this, click here -  _

 

*

 

Keith’s stuntman Lee is slightly broader than him on his shoulders and has an easier smile than Keith. He keeps his hands to himself and chats amiably with Shiro’s stuntman Hide, someone Shiro clearly has worked with before. 

 

The fight scenes are generally brief, very physical and leave Keith aching. He’s in good shape, but Shiro and Hide are both broader and taller than him. It’s painfully easy for them to pin Keith and Lee to the floor, to wrap muscular arms around them: at first it’s just Hide and Lee, rolling around like the professionals they are, at ease with each other and their bodies, their roles. 

 

Then it’s Shiro and Keith, familiar with each other’s bodies in a way they probably shouldn’t be, stuttering in their lines: it’s hard, it’s beyond hard for Keith not to roll his hips against Shiro’s thigh when he’s pinned down. 

 

They rotate: Shiro with Lee. Lee is slippery like a snake, at ease with Shiro’s touches, even throwing in a flirty smirk or two that only make Shiro snort. Then Keith with Hide. Hide apologizes when he gets too rough. He doesn’t smell like the ocean like Shiro does, his hair is in the same elaborate braid as Shiro’s, but it’s a wig: Keith knows Hide’s hair is a dull short brown underneath. Keith grunts through his lines, digs the claws of his gloves into the mattress, wraps his thighs around Hide’s neck and twists.

 

Keith pushes himself too far while filming and thus the day ends with a sprained ankle.Shiro promises to take Keith to his trailer, arm wrapped tightly around Keith’s shoulders. 

“What are you doing,” Keith huffs, curling his fingers into the back of Shiro’s suit jacket, belonging to his character, not to him. 

“Just get in,” Shiro says in return and leads Keith to Shiro’s trailer instead, helps him up and inside. 

“Why did you take me here, I have a first aid kit in my tra- “ Keith trails off. He’s sat down on Shiro’s couch - white, in contrast to Keith’s dark one - and his boot unceremoniously stripped off. Shiro’s face is unreadable, his lip quivering. 

“Let me take care of you, Keith.” He wraps his big hands gently around Keith’s throbbing ankle. 

 

Keith inhales shakily. He looks away. “Fine. At least get me a shot of something. I’m pretty sure you have at least whiskey.” He knows this trailer almost better than he knows his own. There’s the small toilet, small shower stall… there’s the bed, intimately familiar. Keith swallows hard. 

 

“Just one finger then.” Shiro sighs as he gets up. His braid has become undone, his black and white strands tickling his face. He crouches by his tiny kitchen cabinets, a man too big for a place like this and brings Keith a small glass with a dash of alcohol in it. 

 

Keith doesn’t truly want it. What he wants is to lay down and not have to look Shiro in the eye. Keith empties the glass in one inhale. 

 

Shiro takes it from him. 

“Let’s look at that ankle.” 

 

Keith closes his eyes and sighs, deep. 

 

Shiro removes his sock, then tries to roll up his pants, but those damn pants are way too tight. Shiro clears his throat and bites his lip. 

“Maybe you - you should take off your pants. They’re a bit -”

 

Keith smirks. “Why didn’t you just say so, big boy.” He grabs the moment and keeps it, shoves off the budding anxiety and annoyance and everything that is chaos inside of him. The smirk stays strained.

 

Shiro doesn’t take the bait, that damned fool, and just frowns. 

 

Keith’s smirk slides off. “Fine.” He struggles to open his pants and slide them off, painfully aware that he has to wear the skimpiest briefs underneath. There are bruises blooming from the earlier filming, tossing and punching. 

 

Shiro helps him pull his pants off and of course, neatly folds them and places them on the couch.

 

Keith swallows hard again, fighting off the waves of anxiety. He refuses to acknowledge the warmth inside of him as  - his heart rate picks up when Shiro just looks at him. God. He’s so fucking pathetic.

 

Shiro’s hands are very warm, very careful as he examines Keith’s ankle. “Definitely sprained.” Shiro’s strands tend to get on his face. Keith tugs his hands under his armpits to prevent himself from tucking them behind Shiro’s ears. “I’m going to put ice on it.” Something is sharper in Shiro’s tone, a trickle of ice behind the usual warmth. 

 

Keith quickly loses his will to look away and instead stares as much as he wants. A pleasant little shiver runs through him at Shiro’s touches. Not even in his mind he can say it. His jaw tightens. The cold of the ice pack is so startling he hisses. “Fuck.” 

 

“You can handle it, sweetheart,” Shiro murmurs softly. He brushes Keith’s calf. “Please keep your weight off it for a few days. At least we have that free weekend coming.” He gets up but he doesn’t hover, doesn’t loom over Keith. He stays a respectable distance away, his smile a brittle little thing. “Please take a nap, Keith. I’ll go have a chat with Allura.” 

 

“I don’t want charity,” Keith whispers. But he’s already pulling off his jacket and flopping down on the couch, curling up. 

 

“It’s not charity, sweetheart. Not with you.”

 

Before Keith can debate on what that means, Shiro has departed.

 

**

 

Keith is forced to stay on bedrest for the next couple of days. His ashtray fills up again. He’s ran out of faedust but getting more would mean going to the city center: the fae are way too devious for Keith. Being unable to lie doesn’t mean they don’t know how to go around the truth. 

Being in this bubble of filming on set feels safe and familiar: being with Shiro is safe and familiar, even as the fucker decides to be nice and wants to wait until Keith’s ankle decides to stop being a bitch for them to fuck again.

 

At least they’re finally both tested and proved clean. 

 

Keith wrangles a blowjob out of Shiro, takes great, too great, pleasure in having him between his legs again, this time without nothing between them. 

 

“We should really talk, Keith,” Shiro tries again afterwards, troubled. He’s wearing stupid Star Wars-socks. There’s a huge hole where his big toe is peeking out. 

 

Keith shakes his head.  _ Stop running, _ a voice suspiciously like Keira’s, nags inside his head. “What’s there to talk about?” He’s tugged back inside his trousers. Oh, he’s noticed Shiro hovering close to him more, treating him with more tenderness… it makes Keith warm. Fear makes his heart flutter, like he’s prey, a butterfly under a magnifying glass. 

 

Why does Shiro get this close to him? 

 

What does Shiro want? 

Keith never asks himself what he wants. He began drifting when his parents passed and has never stopped since. Just because Shiro is kind and beautiful and wants to take care of him - and fucks him good - Keith shouldn’t - he shouldn’t stop now, right? 

 

“Keith, don’t be so difficult,” Shiro sighs, shoulders slumped.

 

Keith looks away, always looking away when all he wants is to look. “There’s nothing to talk about. We’re gonna - we’re gonna have a free weekend so it’s not like we’re gonna be in here.” 

 

Shiro sounds defeated. “I thought - I figured you could come to my house.” 

 

Keith licks his dry lips. Shiro’s house? Just the two of them? Keith flushes. Certainly Keith’s little dingy apartment, mostly tended to by Keira and Theo, living three floors higher, would fit their taste better. Not that Keith’s bed in there is much bigger than his bed in his trailer here. Keith picks on a hole in his jeans. “Your… your house?” 

 

When no answer comes, Keith turns to look.

 

Shiro is looking back at him, face so soft that affection and warmth surges instantly through Keith, filling him up. Keith swallows. “I’m not staying over though.” 

 

Shiro smiles. “It’s fine. Let’s leave together then.” 

 

Keith can’t bring himself to say no.

 

*

 

Keith both dreads and waits for the weekend.

 

Shiro makes his plans for the weekend and goes ahead to clean. He even purchases a spare toothbrush and then realizes that Keith doesn’t intend to stay. 

 

Oh well. Shiro would like him to.

 

*

 

“I see why you didn’t wanna come over to mine,” Keith purrs in between kisses, eyes flickering around him. “Probably too working class for your high class tastes.”

 

Shiro freezes, lifting his mouth from where he had been sucking a sizable bruise to Keith’s shoulder. He still strokes the heated skin under Keith’s shirt, smooth where Shiro’s skin is not, due to countless scars and a scattering of scales on his hips. 

 

“What?” 

 

Keith’s pupils are so dilated his eyes look black. He digs his nails into Shiro’s back. “Why did you stop?” Keith frowns, his enticing lips parted. They haven’t touched aside from a couple of handjobs and blowjobs, makeout session cut short by an assistant banging on Shiro’s door. So to stop touching now is unthinkable. 

 

_ Is that what you think of me, Keith? Too high class for you? Too much for you? _ Shiro’s jaw tightens. He hides any flash of sadness deep within, keeps the desire upfront. It’s easy when Keith is finally in his arms, in his space, looking like that. “Just wondering how much I wanna take you up on that offer to suck me off,” he snarls, purposefully lowers his voice and pushes his knee between Keith’s already spread legs and grinds. 

 

Keith whines. “Oh, hell yes, I thought you’d never fucking ask - “ 

 

Shiro only has to withdraw a bit for Keith to drop to his knees, eager hands on Shiro’s waistband, pulling all of it down in one swift move. 

“I have cond- aah, Keith!” Shiro’s hands fly to Keith’s hair. 

 

Keith licks at one of his cocks again and looks up. 

“I like how you taste, big guy.”

 

Shiro shudders. “But -” 

 

“We got tested for this, you fucker. I want your cum in my mouth - and in my ass. I know how much you can come. I want it all,” Keith says sweetly and wraps his hands around the bases. The tentacles quiver eagerly and brush Keith’s cheeks. Keith lets out a surprised little laugh and gives both tips a kiss.

 

“Should know by now you like it messy,” Shiro whispers and leans his palms against the wall. What a fucking sight Keith makes like this: obscenely pretty, his gorgeous mouth sandwiched between Shiro’s dicks. 

 

Keith merely hums as he takes the first in his mouth, curls his tongue around the tip, brushes against the ridges. As Shiro’s tentacle dicks excrete their own fluid, like a watered down version of his cum, it’s an easy slide into Keith’s mouth and down his throat. 

 

If his past lovers hadn’t been usually frightened of his genitals, it would have been easy for them too. They usually just wanted him to go down on them, accepted his fingers, accepted his cocks only in them after encouragement and alcohol and kisses. Even her, the one who left him behind, had found him too big to be comfortable for her. But what she thought doesn’t matter now. She is  like someone else’s memory. 

 

Shiro is here, right now, with the man who has been occupying his thoughts for so many weeks now. 

 

And no one’s gone so eagerly down on him before: he loves to do it to his partners, he’s loved to do it to Keith. But his dicks tend to scare people off.

 

But Keith? 

 

Keith licks and sucks him like he’s never had anything more delicious in his mouth. Keith’s palms are soaked with Shiro’s slick, his lips obscenely stretched around the thicker parts of Shiro’s cocks. He’s also started to make little whines, the cutest sounds Shiro’s heard from him so far.

 

And Shiro’s heart aches for him. Keith might be bit of a moody brat, but his smile, as rare as it is, could heal all of Shiro’s wounds. And he’s beautiful. He’s achingly beautiful, no matter what he does: dances at the club, acts, avoids Shiro, invites Shiro for a fuck or does this.

 

Shiro grunts. He moves his hips, a bit, enough that Keith’s dark eyes flicker up at him and Keith sucks him deeper, deeper - he sucks the other one, then the other one, his lips and chin glisten with slick but Keith doesn’t seem to mind. Shiro doesn’t have to look down to know Keith’s own half-opened pants are tented. 

 

“Fuck,” Shiro hisses, softly under his breath. He keeps his more monstrous side at bay, keeps the claws at bay so it’s just his normal, short nails that brush Keith’s hair off his forehead, reach further to tuck a few strands behind a pointy ear, even now glimmering with a few ear studs.

 

Keith looks up at him.

 

Shiro looks down at him.

 

Shiro’s hands freezes in the middle of a caress.  _ What am I doing? _ Keith’s hair had just looked so inviting. This is something lovers do, not people who just happen to fuck sometimes to release tension. This is - even Keith just being here is a danger to both of their careers. 

 

Keith blinks and quickly looks down and maybe it’s the light playing tricks on Shiro, but his aroused blush has deepened. Keith squeezes him, takes him deeper again. His eyelashes look so long, casting shadows on his cheeks.

 

Shiro places his palms on the wall and groans. “Take me deep, baby, that’s the way,” he murmurs, lets his thoughts spill from his lips. His hand falls on Keith’s hair. “You’re so damn pretty, sweetheart.” 

 

Predictably, Keith blushes further, takes Shiro deeper. He doesn’t look up, instead alternates between cocks, laps at Shiro’s slick. Keith is huffing, too into it to even stop to breathe. He moans, obscenely loud. 

 

Shiro spurts pre-cum, leaves glowing trails on Keith’s stretched lips. 

 

Shiro closes his eyes and grabs a handful of Keith’s hair. “Oh, fuck, baby. Fuck.” He shifts his hips, encouraged by Keith’s hands on them, shifting behind him to grab his ass. Keith fondles it, chokes on his cocks with desperate, horny glee.

 

It’s no surprise that Shiro climaxes, fucking into Keith’s throat, spurts right down it, on his face, on his chest. Some gets on Keith’s opened shirt, glimmering, softly glowing, fitting so good on his skin. 

 

Shiro strokes himself, spills the final drops on Keith’s outstretched tongue, strokes Keith’s hair. “Oh. Fuck. Fuck.” Shiro licks his lips, painfully aware that his fingers and nails have stretched into claws, that there is a telltale-itching in his throat, in his gums. Fuck. He hasn’t lost control like that in a while. He pulls his hands away, catching his breath. His cocks flop against his thighs. 

“Oh, fuck, I - “ Shiro brushes his claws over the mess on Keith’s face. “Oh fuck.” 

 

Keith opens his eyes, looks up at him. Keith licks his lips. “You really do come a lot, big guy,” Keith whispers sensually.

 

“It’s .. embarrassing,” Shiro murmurs, wipes some of it off Keith’s cheek, lets out a choked sound when Keith grabs his hand instead.

 

And licks. 

 

“It’s hot that you lose control,” Keith says. He gets up, lets himself be bracketed between Shiro’s hands. “Because you make me lose control too, big man.” He wraps his arms around Shiro’s neck and nuzzles his jaw, bites. “Big man with big cocks. Fuck me good tonight and I might stay over. Yeah?” 

 

Shiro inhales deeply, licks his own cum off Keith’s face. “You really want me to come in you?” Shiro slides Keith’s shirt off, eager to get his hands on all of that lean, gorgeous muscle. “Fuck, your face is a mess, I’m so - “ 

 

Keith slips his tongue into Shiro’s mouth, then licks his nose. “Don’t fucking say sorry, I want this. I want your cum all over me.” 

 

“You’re gonna be the death of me, baby boy.” Shiro wastes no time in leaning, grabbing Keith’s thighs and lifting. Keith yelps and grabs him tighter, sputters out a what the fuck. Keith’s long legs snap around Shiro’s waist. 

 

Shiro grins. “It’s your own damn fault.” He carries his boy to his bedroom, pins him to the bed. Their mouths mash together with practiced ease, their fingers slide together, intertwining like it was the most natural thing in the world. They devour each other, Keith’s little fangs peek out to scrape Shiro’s lip, Shiro’s own itching to push out but he refuses. He’s not ashamed of what he is, of the darker, monstrous side lurking beneath him, but he wants to have Keith like this: as he is. 

 

Keith sucks his tongue and Shiro moans, ruts against him, eager to go again. 

“I want to eat your ass, baby,” Shiro whispers. His own shirt finds its way to the floor, his pants to his knees. Keith’s hands are exploring, wandering, stopping to admire the smoothness of scales on Shiro’s waist. 

“Whatever you want,” Keith purrs but he wavers when Shiro doesn’t turn him on his stomach, instead slithers lower. Shiro bites the inside of those milky, delicious thighs, enjoys the way Keith quivers. 

“You’re not gonna - “ Keith yelps again as Shiro grabs him, lifts his hips off the bed, nudges his knees close to his chest. Keith whimpers. “S-Shiro.” 

 

Shiro’s eyebrow quirks. He presses a kiss to the pink bitemarks, nuzzles Keith’s groin. The scent of arousal makes Shiro dizzy, as does the sight of Keith reaching for the sheets to grab them, gazing at Shiro with heated eyes. So Shiro closes his eyes and spreads Keith’s cheeks, licks. 

 

Keith keens. 

 

Encouraged, Shiro growls, licks again. Keith’s sweet little hole quivers, muscles still too tight. Here, how could Shiro fit here? Each time it’s like fucking a virgin, each time Keith makes noise that Shiro could die happy listening to. And now - now that there’s going to be nothing between them, now Shiro can lick his own cum off his lover and have him. He fantasizes having Keith in his bed each day, having him each morning, each day, each evening. 

 

He could make Keith laugh. Make Keith do that little thing he does when he’s not sure if he does find something funny or not: nose wrinkling, the corners of his mouth twitching. 

 

It’s these things that Shiro thinks when he eats Keith out and lets Keith invade all of his senses and fill up his heart and soul with all that beautiful fire. 

 

Keith moans, desperate and gorgeous, his cock leaking on his tightened abs. Shiro sneaks his hand closer to it and gives it a few pumps. 

Keith whines. “S-stop, stop - gimme your fingers - “ He’s so embarrassed, he’s burning red as he struggles to unwind himself from Shiro’s grip. 

 

Shiro is infatuated, he pulls his tongue and lips off his baby with an audible smack, lays one last kiss to the twitching little hole. Shiro stretches his fingers, now back to normal and smiles. “Cute,” he whispers.

 

Keith groans and hides his face. “Shut up and fuck me - oh, fuck - “ 

 

Shiro grabs his cock and strokes, rubs his thumb on the furiously leaking head. “You are so cute, Keith. Just take the compliment, please.” Shiro pulls his hand off too soon, pulls Keith’s hands off his face, kisses his nose.

 

“Never,” Keith grunts, his face feverish and hot. “Fuck me.” 

 

“Yeah.” Shiro pulls back, grabs his lube, bought for this exact occasion and opens it. Only then he notices his hands trembling. Shiro swallows and quickly coats his fingers in it, quickly shifts back to between Keith’s spread thighs. Shiro’s done this enough times to know how quickly to go, when to rub, when to twist. He bites Keith’s jaw as he plunges the first finger in. Keith kisses him, wherever he can reach, wraps his thighs around Shiro. Keith’s legs are so long, so pretty and between them is a heavenly place to be.

 

Shiro latches his mouth to Keith’s throat, to the rapid pulse and fingers him, with clever, thick fingers, gently nibbles, gently leaves faint pink marks. Shiro lets his possessiveness burn through him, enjoys the sight of his marks on Keith. He ruts against Keith, his cocks once again hard and needy. 

 

Fitting just one inside Keith takes some time, but if Keith could take both - 

 

Shiro growls and sucks hard on the pale skin, Keith clenching around his fingers. “I - “  _ I think I’ll keep you. You’re finally here. In my bed. With me. Keith. Keith. Be mine, Keith _ . “You feel so hot, baby,” Shiro murmurs instead. His gums itch  worse, his skin tingles. He keeps himself in check, keeps fingering Keith until Keith is whining, moaning, pulling him into a furious, fierce kiss. 

 

Their teeth clack, scrape lips, tongues pushing and pushing, noses squished against each other, hands groping and caressing wherever they can reach. 

“In me,” Keith whines, reaches for Shiro’s cocks, pumps him. Keith’s mouth is open, his tongue hanging out. “Fuck me -” 

Shiro pins him to the bed with the weight of his body and sinks into Keith’s willing body, pulls Keith’s thighs once more around his waist. 

 

Being one with Keith is like a drug. 

 

Being inside of him is heat, fire, burning Shiro to cinders until there is nothing left but all the chaos he feels for Keith. 

 

He tucks his knees under Keith, lifts him up so he can change his angle, fuck into Keith better. Keith claws his back, arches his back, his neck, reveals the long line of his marked throat for Shiro. 

 

_ I have fallen in love with you.  _

“Keith, oh, Keith, fuck - “ Shiro digs his teeth into Keith’s shoulder, feels his fangs extending, diving deep. 

 

Keith cries, drags his nails deep into Shiro’s back, adds his own marks to the ones already marking Shiro as broken, scars born out of years of bullying, years of hating himself, the accident that robbed him off his arm. 

 

Keith never asks details, never pokes or prods. Keith wants him like this. 

 

_ I have fallen in love with you, Keith. I know next to nothing about you but I love you. I love how you feel around me, in me, all over me. I love -  _

 

Shiro kisses him hard, gets his hand around Keith’s cock and jerks him off. 

“Shiro,” Keith sobs. “Shiro.” Does he have things he wishes he could say too? Does love linger on his lips too? 

 

Shiro can’t bring himself to hope, not like this. He fucks Keith to an orgasm, to his own orgasm, fills him up, marks him as his. 

 

He pulls out, but only to flop back down on Keith. Shiro nuzzles Keith’s jaw. They both quiver through the aftershocks. Shiro takes the opportunity to slide his fingers through Keith’s. Shiro leaves a kiss or two on Keith's jaw. 

 

“Heavy,” Keith murmurs. He licks his lips. 

 

_ I want to eat you up.  _ Shiro pulls back, flops on his back to the bed. “I made a mess of you,” he whispers. 

 

Keith inhales deeply. He’s next to Shiro, on Shiro’s bed, where he belongs. “Y-yeah.” When Shiro looks, Keith is already looking at him. Shiro smiles. “My refractory period is short,” he says. 

 

Keith’s eyes gleam gold. He smirks. “Gonna keep me in your bed for the entire night?” 

 

_ Yes. Yes. Yes. Hell yes. _ Shiro smiles wider. “Only if you want, baby.”

 

Keith does.

 

*

 

It’s cliché to say, to think, but Keith’s never been a poet. It’s heaven to be here with Shiro, to have Shiro so far from anyone else. To have Shiro only look at him, only touch him. Keith claws Shiro’s sheets, deep in this perfect fever dream where they’re dating, where they’re engaged, where they get to wake up to each other each morning and Shiro knows his way through Keith’s heart and soul: the same way he knows his way through Keith’s body. 

 

Keith wants to cry whenever Shiro holds his hand, their fingers fitting perfectly between each other. 

 

Shiro’s hands are bigger than his, warmer than his. Keith doesn’t feel cold or alone now, anxiety shoved into the deepest recesses of his mind, pushed away by Shiro’s whispers of  _ Keith, baby, you’re so cute, so cute, you feel so good. _ Keith always looks for his mouth, always wraps his legs around Shiro’s waist and lets himself be fucked into., takes it eagerly. One cock, both, Keith is filled up with Shiro until he’s overwhelmed and sobbing.and can’t bring himself to say what he wants to say.

 

_ Shiro, you’ve come to mean so much to me. It scares me. It scares the shit out of me. _

 

_ Don’t let me go. Don’t let me go. Don’t let me go. _

 

Maybe he does whisper it out loud, murmurs it between his cries for more, for harder, because Shiro holds him tight and tells him Keith can stay with him forever, that Shiro will take care of him, Shiro wants to care of him. 

 

_ I don’t want your charity, _ Keith had told him. 

 

_ It’s not charity, it’s kindness,  _ Shiro had answered. _ It’s because I like you, Keith. _

 

Keith aches.  _ Please love me, Shiro. Only me. _

 

*

 

Shiro runs his fingers down Keith’s naked spine. “Stay the night, Keith.”

 

As if Keith has any other option. He buries his face into the pillow. “I have been fucked into immobility,” he murmurs. Every shift brings a pleasant ache. Keith can’t suppress a whimper.

 

“I would say sorry if I was sorry in the least,” Shiro whispers. He presses the softest little kiss to Keith’s shoulder.

 

Keith closes his eyes. 

 

Shiro’s warm palm spreads between his shoulder blades and rubs. “Sleep well, love.”

 

Maybe Keith just imagines the last word.

 

*

 

*

 

Shiro’s alarm wakes him at 5:30am as usual. Except it’s a day off and he’s not supposed to get up: not even to his usual morning run, not even to do his morning stretches. He has enough reason not to leave the bed. 

 

He shuts the alarm quickly to not wake the warm body tightly snuggled up against him. Keith has wrapped himself around Shiro, his hair messy and brushing Shiro’s lips. 

 

Shiro inhales deeply. 

 

Keith makes a little noise in his sleep, his arms around Shiro’s waist tightening. 

 

“Who knew you were such a cute little octopus,” Shiro hums. “You’re so cute, Keith.” He nuzzles Keith’s hair. God. They both need a shower desperately. Or a bath. Shiro lets himself fall back asleep, just for a moment: only wakes when Keith squirms. 

 

As it turns out, Keith isn’t awake: he’s just dreaming. Something stressful, because he’s rolling off Shiro and burying his face into the pillow. 

 

“Keith?” 

 

Keith whimpers. 

 

Shiro lays his hand on Keith, ignores the twinge of ache from his prosthetic. “Keith, you’re dreaming, hey, wake up -” He shakes Keith gently, leans closer to brush Keith’s sweaty hair. 

 

Keith reaches for him when he wakes, cheeks glittering with silent, clearly unwanted tears. Shiro takes him into his arms and hugs tight. Keith hitches a sob and inhales deep.

 

“What were you dreaming about, baby?” 

 

Keith sighs. 

 

“My mother.”  He pulls back from the embrace, wipes his tears. “I don’t… want to talk about it.” 

 

Shiro sighs too, shoulders slumping. He gets up from the bed first. “You can take a shower, Keith. There’s an extra towel at the cupboard in the corner. Take whichever you want.” Every inch of him is screaming to go back to the bed. “Please stay for breakfast. I’ll set the table for you. Get you some coffee.” Shiro smacks his mouth. It tastes like crap. 

 

“Come with.” 

 

Shiro blinks. He pulls his hair from his face and turns. 

 

Keith is sitting cross legged, his beautiful skin littered with already fading marks. His hair is sticking up from the top. He’s looking at Shiro, eyes bright. “Take a shower with me. Just… save your water. Right?” 

 

Shiro smiles. How is a guy supposed to be able to say no to that? “Of course, sweetheart.” Shiro stretches his neck and begins the process of taking off the prosthetic. It’s advanced, partly powered by his own magic, but being without it is often easier. 

 

Keith watches all of this, even stands up to take a closer look. 

 

“Does it weird you out?” Shiro lays the arm carefully to its charging station and rolls his shoulder, eager to be rid of the extra weight. All that’s left is the metal base, welded into his skin, leaving behind scars.

 

Keith snorts. “Our world is a weird fucking place,” he says, voice still rough from last night. He touches the scars gently, trails the pale jagged marks. “I haven’t seen you without it.” 

 

“Yeah. I really should remember to take it off more often. Especially for nights,” Shiro says. 

 

“Come on then. Let’s take a shower. And please don’t say anything about my bathroom. I know it’s ridiculous.” His ears go pink. He lays his hand on Keith’s shoulder and squeezes. 

 

Keith smiles. “How bad could it be?” 

 

_ Silver bad. Rub my money into your face bad.  _

 

Keith snorts as he takes in the sleek silver of the massive sink, carved crowns on the toilet seat, the large bathtub with its window sill, looking over the city. And the shower-head, of glimmering silver. It’s in the shape of a lion. 

 

Shiro blushes. 

 

“Figured you were a rich boy,” Keith huffs and makes a move for the shower first. 

 

Shiro watches him, enamoured at the sight of his lover in his shower, in his space. Shiro clears his throat. “There’s a toothbrush for you too… it’s the red one.” He quickly leaves to rip the sheets off the bed. He takes them straight to the washing machine, tucked in the other room. Only then he comes back, to find the glass separating the shower fogging up, Keith’s faint form standing underneath. 

 

Shiro’s heart stutters. 

 

“Keith. I’m coming in.” 

 

Keith huffs, looks over his shoulder at Shiro when Shiro steps next to him. “That’s what you said last night.” Keith laughs when Shiro grabs him from behind and kisses him loudly on the neck, tickles Keith’s side. 

 

Shiro’s heart soars at hearing Keith laugh. Could Shiro have hope after all? Could he? Shiro hums. “Want me to wash your hair?” 

 

Keith nudges his arm off himself. “I think I can handle it, big boy.” Keith grabs one of Shiro’s shampoo bottles, pours it, massages it into his hair. 

 

Shiro does the same to his own hair, hangs close enough to Keith to feel his body’s warmth. He’s going to smell like Shiro. Shiro bites back a pleased growl at that. Keith isn’t his. Not the way Shiro wants. 

 

“I could at least wash your back?” Shiro murmurs, washes the shampoo off. He can’t help brushing Keith’s neck. 

 

“Sure.” Keith makes a face at Shiro’s collection of loofas, a couple of luxurious, faintly scented soap bottles. “You rich people are really something extra.”

 

“As far as I know, your own wealth is nothing to snort at,” Shiro huffs, biting back a stab of annoyance. He was born into this. He didn’t even choose this apartment. Does it really bother Keith more than he says? Shiro takes one of the loofahs and starts washing Keith’s back as ordered, takes extra care in  scrubbing off any reminder of last night. At least Keith will still smell like his soap and his shampoo. 

 

“Maybe,” Keith says, faintly. “Sorry. I’m - I’m not used to being famous. I don’t like being famous.” 

 

Shiro runs the loofah over Keith’s shoulders, now hunched protectively. “Hey, it’s alright. I don’t know your circumstances. It’s not like we’ve talked much.” It comes out snappier than he means to. 

 

Keith’s shoulders hunch further. “Yeah. I know of your family. They’re pretty badass. Your dad still acts, right?” 

 

Shiro pulls the loofah back and squeezes it, rinses it. Keith doesn’t know his circumstances either. “Ah. Yeah. As far as I know.” He hasn’t talked to his parents for a year. Or to anyone else in his family. They’re all settled nicely in Japan, far away from him. None of them had tried to contact him either. 

 

“As far as you know?” Keith looks at him then. “Are you okay?” Keith lays his palm on Shiro’s chest, steps closer, back to Shiro’s space.

 

Shiro smiles.  _ Better now that you’re here. _ “Yeah. I’m a big boy, Keith.” And because Shiro can, he kisses Keith. It’s bad, it’s sloppy because they really need to brush their teeth, but Keith makes a choked little noise and Shiro can’t bring himself to stop. He pushes Keith against the fogged up glass and slips his hand to Keith’s ass. 

 

Keith wraps his leg around Shiro’s waist and grinds. 

 

Shiro groans. “Oh shit, Keith.” He slips his finger to Keith’s hole, finds it yielding to his fingertip and pushes in. 

 

Keith moans. “Mm, Shiro.” He pecks Shiro’s temple, his cheek, his nose, grinds himself against Shiro. Keith worms his hand between them and grabs their cocks. He rubs, he strokes, presses his forehead on Shiro’s shoulder. 

 

Keith whispers Shiro’s name as he comes, Shiro grunts Keith’s into his wet hair. They pull off each other and share a look, another touch. They finish washing up and drying off. Shiro heads for the kitchen to make his promised breakfast, something boiling in his heart. He brushes  his teeth as he goes, boxers on, towel around his neck. 

 

Would it be too much to ask Keith to stay: to have a drink with him, to watch a movie.

 

Shiro stills his tongue and instead finishes brushing his teeth and choosing the correct sugary cereal and making a pot of coffee. 

 

Keith has stolen a pair of his boxers and one of his shirts, flushes, instantly troubled when Shiro quirks an eyebrow at it. “I’ll return them after washing,” Keith grumbles. 

 

“It’s okay,” Shiro whispers, breathless that Keith is wearing him, smelling like him. It ignites the more primal part of Shiro, the part of him that is the monster, the creature of the depths. Shiro can feel the tickle of his scales on his hips. “I could make you eggs, if you want.” 

 

Keith shakes his head. “I don’t really do breakfast.” He pulls his damp hair into a ponytail and even that brief action is enough to make Shiro nearly drop hot coffee on his hand. “But I’ll have your Lucky Charms. And black coffee.”

 

Shiro turns his back, just to be able to smile. Hope blooms inside of him, terrifying and beautiful.

 

He pours Keith a cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal, gives him one of his colourful spoons, just to see Keith smile. 

 

“I’m glad you stayed the night, Keith.” 

 

They’re sitting opposite to each other like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Shiro drinks his sugary milky coffee and munches on his cereal and watches Keith. Keith-watching is one of his favourite things in the world. 

 

Keith keeps his eyes down. That troubled little frown is back, although Keith’s shoulders stay loose and relaxed.

 

“Are you okay?” Shiro lowers his cup. 

 

Keith’s eyes flash up at him. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” 

 

Shiro sighs. “You… you went quiet on me.” 

 

Keith shrugs. 

 

Shiro stamps down the flash of irritation. Hope quivers inside of his chest. “I just… we can talk, Keith. I figured we could at least. Be friends.” 

 

Keith’s spoon clatters on the bowl. “Friends.” His voice is hollow. 

 

Shiro takes a deep breath. “I mean - “ 

 

“Thanks for last night.” Keith takes a deep breath too, inhales, exhales. He stands up. His eyes are dark, impossible to read. “Walk me out?” 

 

Shiro stares at him, works on begging Keith to stay, to talk about this, to talk for real because that is this? What’s brewing between them, so eager to burn them both to ash? 

 

“O-oh. Okay. Just wait a second.” 

 

Keith slips away from him, probably to put on his own clothes. He has a little bundle under his arm when he appears again. Like he can’t stay in the same room as Shiro anymore. 

 

Shiro pulls on socks and a fluffy morning robe, doesn’t notice when Keith’s mouth twitches in a smile when noticing Shiro’s ridiculous lion slippers. 

“I could drive you, you know.”

 

Keith shakes his head. “I need to walk. It’s not like you live that far away. And I have money for a bus.” 

 

“Where you’ll get mobbed,” Shiro grumbles and grabs his keys. 

 

Keith snorts. “Nah.” He waits until Shiro’s unlocked the door. They make their way to the elevator. 

 

“So uh. I guess I’ll see you back on set tomorrow,” Shiro says, unable to keep disappointment, sharp, bitter irritation from his voice. 

 

Keith huffs. “Yeah.” 

 

They ride the elevator together, all the way down. So much for taking a long bath together, maybe with some candles and some wine. 

 

“Are you sure you - “ 

 

“Yes, Shiro. I don’t need you to hold my hand all the time,” Keith snaps. He leaves the elevator first. Shiro follows, ignores the doorman’s lifted eyebrows. That guy hadn’t been at the front door yesterday. 

 

“What do you  - I just want to help you, Keith,” Shiro says, follows Keith outside. The bright daylight surprises them both. Keith begins to walk. Shiro follows, nudges them off the main street. 

 

“Don’t be difficult, Keith and talk to me. Are you okay?” Shiro pays no mind to the fact that there could be a paparazzi lurking nearby, or a curious passerby or even the doorman he doesn’t know: Keith has a terrifying, miserable expression on his pretty face, a face that should only ever smile. 

 

And Shiro can’t stand it. Keith’s even still wearing his marks, that particular bitemark peeking from under Shiro’s shirt: it hangs off Keith’s slim frame, too broad for him. 

“I’m fine,” Keith hums, pushes Shiro against the wall. The alley, the little nook of trash cans and fire escapes isn’t glorious or clean, but neither pays attention. 

“I’m fine, Shiro.” Keith’s eyes are dark as he slips his thigh between Shiro’s legs. 

 

Shiro twitches. “Not the time and place, Keith, come on -” Instinctively he grabs Keith’s arm, his prosthetic still resting on his table upstairs. “Can we talk?” 

 

Keith snarls. “No.” He surges up to kiss Shiro, as hot and insistent as earlier and Shiro is helpless to it, so fucking helpless. So he kisses back, lets Keith rub against him, squeezes Keith’s arm hard enough to bruise. 

 

Neither notices or feels the disaster brewing, curious eyes on them.

 

They kiss, they grind, Shiro can’t bite back moan as Keith’s teeth scrape his lip. Shiro’s cocks slip out of their sheath and he blushes, pushes Keith off himself.

 

“See you later, Shiro,” Keith murmurs. He walks away without looking.

 

Shiro swears under his breath, takes his keys in his hand and squeezes. 

 

*

 

Keith doesn’t pine.

 

He doesn’t. He doesn’t. He doesn’t. Except he tastes bile when he remembers the hurt in Shiro’s eyes when Keith had shoved him away again, figuratively and literally. Keith drinks himself into a stupor that evening and shuts off his phone.

 

He can take a verbal lashing tomorrow. Not now. Not with Shiro’s touch lingering on his body, Shiro’s shirt and Shiro’s boxers so soft on his skin. 

 

“I love him,” Keith whispers into his empty apartment. “What the fuck. What the fuck.”

 

*

 

Shiro pines. 

 

He’s in love. His apartment smells like Keith. He goes to the gym but is distracted enough to bruise himself instead of exercising himself. 

 

He chats with friends online. He updates his Faephoto with something meaningless and stupid about morning coffee. He wishes he could say: _ I’m in love. His eyes are like stars. When he laughs, the room brightens.  _

 


	4. ACT IV: What I want is you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You, Keith. It's you who I want.

Monday-morning finds Shiro and Keith on set once more, Keith with dark circles around his eyes, Shiro with a permanent bed head that refuses to leave. Keith snaps at his makeup artist sharply enough that he looks genuinely stricken. Shiro tries to talk to Keith but each time Keith refuses to even look at him.

Is this it then, Shiro wonders. Is this the end of this, whatever they are? 

 

At some point of the day, between Keith stumbling through the fifteenth take of the same damn scene and Shiro trying his best not to stare at him, a ruffled-looking assistant slips inside to whisper something into Allura’s ear. Instantly she takes out her phone and taps. 

 

The temperature of the room goes from pleasantly warm to arctic. 

 

Her eyes are ice as she calls for cut and beckons Shiro and Keith to her. 

 

“Care to explain?” 

 

They both look.

 

The tabloid screams with big black letters of A TRYST IN THE DARK??, the slew of photos are of Shiro and Keith, Shiro pushed against the wall, wearing nothing but his stupid goddamn bathrobe, clearly half-naked underneath, their mouths locked in what’s obviously a passionate kiss. 

 

Shiro’s stomach drops.

 

Keith’s face is ashen.

 

Allura narrows her eyes. Exhaustion lingers on her pretty features. Her mouth is a thin line. “I would expect you to know better, Shiro.” 

 

Shiro’s jaw tightens. “It was - I was -” 

 

The news-piece calls Keith a slut. It calls Shiro a victim of his seduction. It debates about Keith climbing up him to get his role. 

 

They both read it. Keith’s mouth quivers. “It was nothing. A mistake.” 

 

Shiro grits his teeth. “A mistake?” 

 

Keith doesn’t look at him. “Yeah. I shouldn’t have.” 

 

“No, you shouldn’t have. We shouldn’t have.”  _ Look at me, Keith. Look at me. For fuck’s sake, look at me.  _

 

Allura has lowered her phone. “What’s… what’s going on? Anything you want to share with me, guys?” 

 

Shiro is staring at Keith. Keith is staring at the floor. “I never wanted to talk to you, Shiro. Never. I was just happy being - whatever we were. I was just waiting for you to find someone and leave me.” 

“What?” 

 

“Yeah. I shouldn’t have done that to you.” Keith’s jaw is clenched. “What the fuck do you care, as if your precious fans will hate you for this.” 

 

“Keith - “ 

 

“You’re so fucking beloved. They’ll forgive you for anything.” 

 

“That’s not true.” Shiro grabs Keith’s shoulder but Keith wrenches himself away, eyes wild when he looks up. 

“Don’t fucking touch me.” Keith inhales, panicked. 

 

Shiro grits his teeth. “Why are you so bothered by my wealth? By my fame? I can’t help having famous parents!” He blushes, gums itching. The monster in him begs to be freed and he can feel it slipping through him, forming claws, forming fangs, black ink spreading over his irises. “Stop running away Keith!”

 

Keith is all coiled up and ready to pounce, ready to run. “Fuck you, I’m not running! I just don’t want your fucking fans on me for a stupid fucking mistake like that! I was happy about this role but now I’m regretting -” his jaws snap shut. He inhales.

 

Shiro reaches for him again and Keith physically recoils. “Don’t fucking touch me! As if you even really care, you’re just as fake as the rest of them!” He spouts more words, more words he possibly can’t mean. 

 

Shiro snarls. “You’re a damn brat! You’re such a child, Keith! You’re gonna be alone all your fucking life if you keep pushing away everyone who tries to help you! Is this about the friend-comment? The pics? The pics can go away. I can make my fans shut up. Is this about me having a big apartment? What the fuck do you even want me to say? I thought we - I thought - ” 

 

“Guys,” someone tries next to them. 

 

“Good lord,” murmurs Allura. She doesn’t make a move to stop them though, glares daggers at anyone trying to film. 

 

Vincent hovers close, eyes very wide. 

 

“I don’t know, okay!” Keith is shouting now, the glow of his golden eyes gone almost sickly yellow. “I don’t want anything from you!”

 

Each word is like a slap on the face.

 

Shiro growls, the sound deep. He knows his fangs are out, his mouth too full for them like this. 

 

Even Keith flinches. 

 

“That’s right, you don’t want anything from me. Like you didn’t want anything last night,” Shiro snarls, words a little slurred. It’s a low blow and he knows it, but his rage is boiling. It’s better than the sharp hurt. Is this it then? Is this what Keith was feeling all this time? 

 

It can’t be. 

 

Keith takes a step back. “No, I don’t. I don’t! I want you to leave me alone! Stop with the advice, stop with the - the looks, stop with everything!” 

 

“Fine! Excuse me for trying to be nice! Get ripped to shreds, who gives a fuck!” Shiro lets the monster growl, fights back against hurt and regret and guilt and instead dives deep into the anger.

 

Keith is like a tightly coiled violin string, ready to snap. “Fuck you! Just! Fuck you!” He shakes off hands reaching for him and instead runs. 

 

“Run away then, you little coward!” Shiro shouts after him, seeing red. “Grow the fuck up, Keith!”

 

*

 

Keith runs, as usual.

 

*

 

Shiro listens to his well-earned scolding. He doesn’t dare to look anyone in the eye after coming down from the red high of anger. He can smell their fear.

 

That’s right. It’s what he deserves.

 

*

 

Both of their managers call them. Alfor sounds disappointed and it kills Keith worse than if Alfor had yelled. Honerva sounds cold, hisses like a snake. Shiro can take it. What he can’t take is the knowledge that he had hurt Keith, that Keith had hurt him. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Shiro whispers to the phone.

 

“I’m sorry,” Keith whispers to the phone and means it for someone else’s ears.

 

*

 

The filming isn’t halted the next day, but some scenes have changed spots. Allura firmly tells them to get their fucking shit together and locks them in Shiro’s trailer. 

 

Keith prowls like a caged animal. 

 

“Keith - “ 

 

Keith wraps his arms around himself. It takes Shiro a moment to realize Keith is crying. It’s not the first time Shiro’s seen him do so, but this is different. This is not a perfect movie tear, not tears induced by pleasure. This is Keith, in pain. This is just Keith, looking for himself and looking for real love, true love.

 

“Don’t look at me like that I chose to -” Keith’s struggling to get the words out. 

 

The lump in Shiro’s throat is hard to swallow. He crosses his arms across his chest and looks away. His eyes prickle.  “Chose what? To hurt me? To hurt yourself?” 

 

Keith sobs, a choked, awful little sound. “To fall in love with you.” To Shiro, it sounds like Keith has never had to force the words out. These words are spat out, like they were poison. 

 

Shiro’s lips part. To hear something he’s been fantasizing, dreaming about … it’s unthinkable. “What? You - you what?” 

 

“I didn’t ask for this,” Keith says again. His lips are quivering, his fingers digging into his arms. His cheeks are stained with his tears, his beautiful face crumbling. “My life’s shit enough. But here you are, perfect, acting like you know all, like you know me. Like you genuinely would want someone like me.” 

 

The sound in Shiro’s ears has to be his heart, shattering. “But - “ 

 

Keith shakes. “Why did I let this go this far. I’ve never - I’ve never had sex more than once or twice with the same partner but now I - I can’t think of anyone else. You’ve fucking ruined me. We’ve ruined the filming. Now everyone everywhere can see that I shouldn’t even be here, that I’ve ruined you - that I’m really a s-  “

 

Shiro swallows. “You’re not a slut. Don’t listen to what they say. Keith - “ He lets his arms drop to his sides. Keith? In love with him? “Keith. I didn’t know. I. I shouldn’t have let this go this far either. It’s just not on you.” He squeezes his eyes closed. “I acted so unprofessionally yesterday I am sorry. I don’t think we are good for each other.” His heart and soul and every inch of him is shouting, screaming at him. Refusing these words.  _ They’re a lie, _ he wants to say.  _ I’m addicted to you, Keith Kogane, _ is what his heart whispers.

 

They both know it’s all over social media and the news. The news that even Shiro has been seduced by the bad boy Kogane, by the slut who keeps spreading his legs for anyone willing. 

 

Shiro has already gotten his scolding from the crew but he’s not ready to sign in and face the disappointment of his fans. This is not him: he doesn’t lose control. He doesn’t know how to fix this.

 

Keith sobs.

 

Shiro takes a step closer. “Keith - “ 

 

Keith is clearly disgusted by his own tears, furiously trying to wipe them off with his sleeves. “Fuck you,” Keith whispers. “I fucking hate you.” 

 

Shiro’s vision blurs. “No, you don’t. You just told me you’re in love with me.” Shiro sighs and runs his hand through his face. “I should be mad at you but I - I can’t. What you said really hurt me, how you’ve been acting… but I can’t stay mad at you.” Of course his skin remembers how Keith’s skin feels. Of course his lips and tongue know how Keith’s mouth tastes. Of course his ears remember the sound of Keith’s sleepy laugh. 

 

“Fuck off.” Keith hides his face. He’s sobbing, loud like a child. 

 

It’s a coward’s way out, Shiro knows it full well. Yet taking Keith into his arms here would mean the end of everything. So he bites back his words and  takes a step backwards, then stops. “Oh, Keith.” 

 

Keith crouches, curls himself small like to protect himself from Shiro. 

 

Shiro retreats to his little nook, to his bed and sighs, locks his ears and eyes from the sight of Keith’s overflowing feelings.

 

*

 

*

 

The atmosphere seeps poison at the Werewall Studios. The set is clad in sunlight, comforting earthy tunes as before. The crew buzzes around the set, fixing lights, cameras, microphones. Allura’s white hair is brighter than any spotlight as she chats with her main cameraman, her flipboard under her arm. 

 

There’s Vincent, tapping his foot against the floor, already in his character’s costume, hair done, makeup done. 

 

But the set is missing two. 

 

Allura’s rage is a simmering, white-hot thing as she lifts her head and glances around. She doesn’t need to say a word. She frowns, her mouth thinning.

 

“They’re on their way,” a crewmember says. “Shiro’s car broke down. You know how it is.” They flush as Allura’s stormy blue gaze hits them with full force. “Sorry, Allura.” 

 

“A long-time professional like Shiro should know better,” she says. “And so should Keith. Unbelievable. Fine. We’ll move onto scene 14 then. Vince, take your place. Extras, onto your places as well!” She claps her hands. 

 

Like worker ants, they do her bidding. 

 

Vincent bites his nails and keeps his comments to himself. Only his frown stays, marring his perfectly bubbly love interest-character. 

 

Although the filming has gotten to this point, there’s not a single person on set who isn’t aware that the greatest chemistry in the film isn’t between Keith and his supposed love interest- but between Keith and his supposed antagonist.

 

Both who appear fourty minutes late, keeping as much distance between each other as possible. Shiro’s smile isn’t as polite as usual, his hair a little more messier. He still says his apologies, pats Allura on the back and offers to make it up to her as much as possible. 

 

Keith doesn’t even look at him. His sorry is said more to the floor than the crew. His piercings are missing today, only the silvery little septum and the little fish in his left ear left. He goes straight to make-up and doesn’t even pat away the poking hands or answer any of the makeup artist’s questions. A light has gone out of him. 

 

Shiro chatters a usual in a low voice with a crew member and watches Vincent film his scene. Once Keith leaves his make-up and hair chair, Shiro takes his place. Neither spares a look at each other.

 

The crew members share looks. Clearly something has shifted between the two. But will it lead to yet another altercation? Another meltdown? Shiro’s known to be kind, to internalize his stress more than let it show. His anger had been a frightening thing to witness. 

 

Keith pulls Vincent aside with a hand on his arm and whispers something to him, mouth turned down. Vincent pats his shoulder. 

 

And that’s that. They film more scenes. Get more takes. Allura shouts orders from time to time, intense focus on her face as she occasionally squints into the screen. 

 

Both Keith and Shiro manage through their scenes, even the ones they have together. If there is more emotion in Keith’s voice as he goes through his lines than usual, then nobody’s going to think twice on it. If Shiro looks at him for too long, even after Allura has yelled cut, then nobody needs to mention it. 

 

Yet the tension between them is painfully obvious. Once they get their lunch break, they stay on the opposite sides of the set. Shiro surrounds himself with his friends and the crew. Keith sits by himself, curled up on a chair and playing with his phone. Just a few days ago, before the incident, these two had been talking, had been smiling. Shiro’s hand had been on Keith’s shoulder, Keith had looked at him like he meant the world.

Now the rift between them has spread to encompass the world.

 

It comes off as no surprise that it’s Allura who takes one look at them, face hard, and marches to Shiro. 

 

Shiro’s smile drops. “Allura, I’m so - ” 

 

“I don’t want your damn apology,” she says. “You are forgiven for that incident and I want you to do your best in my damn movie. What I don’t want is the little feud between you and  Keith to poison the entire atmosphere of this set. You two, frankly, are behaving like children. Also… You two are a fucking PR nightmare. Thank God I am not your manager. I feel so damn sad that my father and Miss Honerva have to handle you two.”

 

Shiro’s mouth thins. His eyes move from Allura to Keith. Keith looks away, face pink. 

“All due respect, Allura - “ 

 

“With all of your disrespect, you mean. Look. I don’t give a shit what’s going on between you two and I know there is something, all of us do because you two are obvious so don’t even start. And don't let me even start on those goddamn photos. Thank God father and Honerva know how to do their jobs but you two have given them more grey hairs than they already have. Anyway! When it interferes with our work and my movie, then it’s my business. Fix it. You two can go back to hate-fucking outside of the set but don’t bring this shit into my. Damn. Set. Ever. Again.” She pokes his chest with a sharp purple nail with each word.

 

Shiro swallows, his chin tight. He glances at Keith again and for a single blink of an eye, his face softens. “It is both of our faults.” Shiro sighs and fingers his ponytail. “I know you don’t want my apologies, Allura. But I will apologize. I know my - my behaviour hasn’t been like it should have been.” His cheeks bloom red. Once again his gaze finds Keith. Keith’s gaze finds his, then looks away.

 

“You are killing me,” Allura groans, pressing the heels of his hands into her eyes. “Fix it. Don’t bring this shit to work. I like you, Shiro and I happen to like that broody little bastard too but in here I am your boss. I am your director. In here I am not your friend. Just… I’ll talk to Keith as well but if it comes down it, I will lock the two of you into a room until you work it out.” 

 

“I’m - “

 

“No. Eat your lunch and get back to work.” Allura turns on his heel and marches straight towards Keith. 

 

Keith’s sandwich is half-eaten. His hand is twitching, tapping against his thigh. His skin is ashen, even through the thick layer of make-up. Allura stares at him, her arms crossed.

“What are you doing, Keith?” 

“Lunch,” he murmurs.

“Not that. What. What are you doing? Look. I like you two. I do. You are doing a fine job in this film, my film but this? Arriving late? Getting caught fucking him? That little row on set? You’re distracting your castmates. You’re distracting the crew. If you checked your messages, you would know how many death threats my father has gotten from Shiro's fans. ” She shakes her head, her long curls tumbling over her shoulders. “Like I said to Shiro just now, I will lock the two of you in a room until you work it out. Again. Whatever it is that you two are, fix it. Work it out. At least don’t bring it to the workplace. It is incredibly unprofessional.” 

 

Keith’s cheeks are blooming red. But he meets her gaze head-on. “Do you want my apology?” 

 

Allura blinks. “You are a little bastard.” Her mouth twitches. “No. Actually, I don’t want it. What I want from you is your work. Don’t tell me you are sorry. And I’m certain you are. Show me. Very disappointed in you. If it wasn’t for my father’s insistence that you are just prickly on the outside, I wouldn’t be this lenient.” 

 

Keith’s mouth is a thin line. It’s apparent to him why Allura Oriande has risen in the ranks of Faewood so quickly. 

 

He doesn’t finish the rest of his lunch.

 

He also doesn’t check on his social media. He doesn’t want to see what’s going. He doesn’t call his sister back although she has called five times in the last few hours alone and left twenty messages, all saying the same thing: that he needs to call her asap and that she loves him. 

 

Through it all, Keith’s love for Shiro burns through him, invigorating him. He can’t let this go.

 

*

 

Shiro can’t let this go. He loves Keith. And Keith needs to know. So after the day’s shoots, when it’s pitch-black outside and most of the crew and cast can’t hold back their yawns anymore, then Shiro slips closer to Keith. 

 

“Please.” 

 

This time Keith nods. He doesn’t look at Shiro or let him touch him but Keith follows him to Shiro’s trailer. 

 

Shiro refuses to feel hope again just yet. The couple of days of damage control has taken its toll on Shiro  and he can’t blame Keith for refusing to check up on social media. It’s a fucking mess. But both Honerva and mister Oriande seem to have a good handle on it. 

 

This is more important than any photos or fan-disappointment. 

 

Keith is more important than anything. 

 

“So, uh,” Shiro starts after closing the door.

Keith stands in the middle of the trailer, head hanging, hair free. He’s in full black, the black colour on his nails chipped. 

 

Shiro waits. “I’m here for you, Keith.” 

 

“I’m sorry,” Keith whispers. “I - I didn’t mean any of those things.” He looks up, meets Shiro’s gaze. Keith’s eyes are dry, but so dark they’re impossible to read. He’s fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “It’s just - “ 

 

Shiro stays an arm’s length away. 

 

“Everyone leaves me.” 

 

Shiro goes absolutely still. “What do you mean?” Shiro’s read on Keith on the internet, of course. Knows he has one half-sister. Knows Keith’s parents have passed away years ago. Shiro knows Keith’s never dated anyone, as far as the internet knows. Previous castmates and crewmates have called him sullen and hard to warm up to. Had no one ever bothered to crack the armour? 

 

Keith grits his teeth. “Everyone but you. But then you -” 

 

Shiro’s heart sinks. “Keith, I don’t - I don’t know how to. I don’t know how to do this. You know why I was with Celeste for so long? Because she was there.” He can’t seem to swallow back the lump in his throat. “Not because she was the love of my life. Not because there was never anyone else. I think you hold me to a too high regard, Keith. I only went into acting because of my parents. I don’t know what I want in life.” 

 

Keith is looking at him, eyes huge, gleaming a melancholy little yellow. 

 

“The point is, the point, Keith, that - “ Shiro sighs. His heart races. He twists his fingers. “It’s like the entire reputation of my species is on my shoulders. I’ve fought back against the shapeshifter-prejudice, especially my kind of scaleys. Look, I don’t want to talk about just me but I want you to see where I’m coming from.” He takes a step closer. Keith’s back is very straight but he doesn’t step back. Encouraged, Shiro steps onwards. “I don’t want this tension between us. Believe me. I don’t want you to hate me. And I’m sorry, I’m so sorry for yelling at you and scaring you. I’m so sorry.”

 

“I don’t hate you,” Keith whispers, wraps his arms around himself. “How could you even think that? It’s myself that I - I don’t hate myself, I’ve just… never liked myself.” 

 

Shiro sighs. “Oh, Keith.” He wants to take Keith into his arms and  never let go. “You’re wonderful.” 

 

Keith blushes and it’s the sweetest, most hopeful sight Shiro has seen in days. “No, I’m not.”

 

“No. I like you. I’m halfway into being in love with you. No, I’m - I’m all the way there.” Now that Shiro knows it, feels it, allows himself to feel it, it feels refreshing to say it. He steps closer, closes the distance between them, brushes Keith’s jaw to make him look up. “Can we fix this?” 

 

Keith’s eyes are wide, his mouth a thin line. Shiro fights against the urge to trace it with his thumb. 

“Is that what you want?” Keith asks, his palms on Shiro’s chest, fingers spread.  

 

Shiro allows himself to smile. “I am in love with you, you dumbass. Yes. Yes, Keith. It will take time and it will take work and my manager will absolutely call me a dumb scaley and my fans will flip, again, but - that doesn’t matter. I want things for myself for once.”

 

Keith looks him in the eye for a good, long second. “And what is it that you want?” 

 

Shiro wraps his arms around Keith, presses their foreheads together. “You, Keith. It’s you that I want.” 

 

A heartbeat. A shared breath. Keith wraps his arms around Shiro’s waist, hides his face into the crook of Shiro’s neck. Keith inhales deeply. “I need you.” 

 

Shiro’s breath hitches. He presses a kiss to Keith’s hair: always silky and smooth and so soft to the touch. “You have me. Let’s take this slow, sweetheart. Yes? I think we’ve done everything the wrong way around.” That earns him a little breathless chuckle. Shiro closes his eyes and inhales deep. “Let’s try this thing together.” 

 

Keith smiles against his neck. “Yeah. Together.” 


	5. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One step at a time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter specific songs  
> Ruelle - I get To Love You  
> Ruelle - Where Do We Go From Here?

COFFEE SUPERSTARS PREMIERE: Live stream

 

_ “- The long-awaited, wild superhero rom-com has finally arrived and the stars are arriving on the red carpet. So far the director herself, Allura Oriande, alongside her husband, who is also the executive producer of the movie, Lotor Oriande, has showed up on the helm, looking absolutely radiant in a Zuhair gown -- We’ve also spotted Vincent Pettersson, looking all boy next door in a good old Tom Ford -- of course, the pair everyone has been waiting for, arriving hand in hand as expected. Through a PR nightmare and something that nearly threw Keith Kogane’s budding career into the trash, these two survived and have arrived looking absolutely glowing and in love. Takashi Shirogane is wearing white Armani with a wine red tie and Keith Kogane, aw, look at that blush, who would think he’s the kind of a guy to go all shy? He is wearing a wine red Dolce & Gabbana suit with some interesting silver detailing and a white tie. Already they are mobbed by fans and the photographers. Oh my, miss Brooks, are you seeing what I’m seeing? -- certainly, mister Keaton. Apparently Shirogane has taken ‘if you like it you should put a ring on it’ to heart because these two messy lovebirds are wearing very, very shiny rings. Better get down there before they escape, mister Keaton ---  _

 

*

 

The movie is a box office success. Keith gets sick of looking at his own face in the posters after a week. Shiro kisses his disgruntlement away. They get told to get a room at least once a day by a friend- they have friends now, mutual friends from all walks of life. Shiro’s friends have taken Keith under their wing and to Keith’s surprise, he’d found them fun to hang out with. 

 

Keith leaves his dingy little apartment and moves in with Shiro. Just to make commuting easier, he says. It’s worth it, just to see Shiro’s eye roll. 

 

They fill up Keith’s Faephoto-account with stupid selfies despite Keith’s reluctance. 

 

It takes some time, but finally Keith takes Shiro to meet his parents. They’re buried side by side, in a little cemetery close to where Keith was born, in the warm desert under a bright sun. Shiro introduces himself graciously and makes Keith laugh through his tears. 

 

Shiro takes Keith to meet his own family and finds the shyer version of Keith coming up again. They’ll love you, Shiro insists and kisses Keith until Keith nuzzles against him and nods. 

 

They do. 

 

Shiro pretends that he doesn’t notice Keith tearing up when Shiro’s parents clasp his hands and welcome him inside. 

 

“I’m home,” Keith whispers later to him, when they’re on their bed, ready to sleep through another long night.

“So am I,” Shiro whispers back and holds him close. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope everyone enjoyed <3 please leave kudos/comment/etc for me and my lovely artist ringlovdraws! 
> 
> u can hit me up on Twitter @ allodole


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